


Labyrinths of the Heart

by izadreamer



Series: the long road back to home [1]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst and Feels, Blood and Injury, Character Development, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Forgiveness, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Harm to Animals, Hatred, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences, Not My Fault, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Redemption, emotions are messy business, facing your fears and dealing with your problems, from season 1 at least, mild!!!!! very mild!!!! they are all ok!!, none of this will be canon season 2 and you know what? thats cool, varian's ongoing issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 203,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izadreamer/pseuds/izadreamer
Summary: Plagued by cryptic dreams, Rapunzel leaves to find the origins of the black rocks and face her destiny— only this time, she takes Varian with her.





	1. One Last Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story a little while back, almost as soon as I heard about Varian’s fate. While this story will have both action, plot, and cool powers, it is primarily a story about people. Most of the focus will be on Varian and his relationships with the main group. Fair warning: things may get dark at times, but rest assured it’s all for the sake of a brighter future.
> 
> With that said-- enjoy!!

_Rapunzel is walking on a bridge of black stone._

_Beneath her feet the rock turns icy blue at her touch, the pale colors flaring out like paint on water, a burst of intense color and then fading wisps unfurling to nowhere. They bloom like flowers beneath her feet, urging her onwards. The bridge stretches out into eternity, its start and end hidden by the horizon and a soft gray fog. She doesn’t know where it goes._

_The path is cold against her bare toes, so cold it burns, pain tingling up and down her legs. No wind stirs the dry, icy air—her hair hangs flat and heavy from her scalp, shifting only with her movement, the long strands dragging behind her. Still, she walks on. She cannot say what drives her, only knows in her heart that she must keep moving, unless—_

_It is then that Rapunzel realizes she is alone._

_There is nothing else. No world beyond the stone path, no people. Just the bridge, the fog, the void surrounding them all—and Rapunzel, walking an endless road, going nowhere, with no-one._

_Fear strikes her heart. She is alone. She is alone on a bridge of icy stone, and the path is so, so cold._

_“Eugene? Cass? Is anyone there?”_

_Her voice echoes, bounces back to her, growing louder and fiercer. It is mocking her. **Is anyone, is anyone. Is anyone there?**_

_No, the silence seems to say. There is no-one here but you._

_“Please,” Rapunzel says._

_Beneath her feet the colors bloom. Bright, burning blue. Polar white. Shining and gleaming like gems. Cold as ice and just as merciless._

_In the distance, Rapunzel can hear screaming._

_Her head snaps around, heart hammering in her chest.  She knows that voice. She knows it._

_“NO!”_

_Rapunzel turns on her heels and runs blindly into the distant horizon._

_She runs until her feet ache, until her breaths wheeze, until her hair pulls back on her scalp, as heavy as a ball-and-chain. She runs until that awful blue turns a blinding yellow, until those hauntingly familiar screams fall quiet._

_The fog is lighter here, glowing a soft and unworldly gold. Like the sunrise, or the Corona lanterns, it leads her onwards now that the screams are silenced. Except no, Rapunzel realizes, as she reaches the source of that gentle light. Not gold after all. Amber._

_A man encased in glowing amber, and a small form collapsed at his feet, shoulders bowed and shaking._

_Rapunzel walks to the boy’s side, hesitates, leans down to touch his shoulder. “Varian,” she says. Her words are blank, calm, absent. Devoid of any feeling, wiped clean of any anger, any betrayal. As unbothered as the icy road she’d walked upon. In her chest, her heart twists._

_Varian looks up at her touch, meets her gaze without flinching. His eyes are swollen and rimmed with red, tears running freely down his face. He does not seem to notice them, or perhaps it is that he doesn’t care. His face is calm. Just like Rapunzel, his eyes shine free of anger, of hatred, of pain: of anything._

_The amber glow ignites the air around them. The fog shies away from the amber grave, from them. The stone path beneath their feet begins to crumble, turns to rubble, turns to ash. The dust flies up in the air like fireflies, a hurricane of ruin and smoke._

_“It has to be me,” Varian says, and the world burns gold, as fierce and as blinding as the sun. “It has to be me.”_

-

“This is madness, Rapunzel.”

Rapunzel takes a deep and calming breath, refusing to be swayed. At her side, her fists clench.

“It’s not madness,” Rapunzel repeats stubbornly, her voice tight with forced composure. She has been saying this for almost an hour now, a tiring back and forth that is wearing her down both mentally and physically. She has spent the whole morning agonizing over this choice, and her father is not making the decision any easier.

She wishes he hadn’t made it into this. A private conversation, at least, would grant her more leeway. But no: Rapunzel is standing before a court of law, her father settled high above her on his throne, the advisors around him. Rapunzel stands before and below them, feet aching from staying still for so long. She cannot imagine how the people dare to do this every day, stand in those lines and look up to the king to state their woes. Seated there above her, her father seems frightfully tall.

She wishes Eugene were here. Even if there is no way he can help—even though he himself had been against this—his mere presence would be comforting. But Eugene is not one for court, and though his humor is one of the things Rapunzel loves most about him, here it would hinder her argument. She needs them to take her seriously, and Eugene does not do ‘serious’ all that well.

She is not, however, here alone. In the shadows of a far-off corner, Cassandra stands tall and at the ready, her eyes flinty. For once Rapunzel is not sure this is a good thing.

In most cases. Rapunzel would be overjoyed at Cassandra’s presence. Some part of her, the part that is unaware of things like _context,_ is still grateful. Unfortunately, in this instance, Cassandra is not on Rapunzel’s side, and unlike Eugene, she will not be swayed without an explanation. For Cassandra, it’s personal.

Varian had tried to kill her, after all.

“In what way is this not madness?” her father challenges, drawing Rapunzel’s eyes back to the stand. “Daughter, listen to yourself. You are proposing that we free the boy who attacked our kingdom and kidnapped your mother… for what?”

“For the betterment of the kingdom,” Rapunzel says, yet again. “Dad, I understand, really I do—but it makes _sense_. Varian is a genius. Admittedly a, um, misguided one, but…” Her father’s eyes narrow, and Rapunzel feels a sliver of panic strike her gut. She is losing him. “Dad, if we really want to understand this curse, I _need_ his help! As much as I wish otherwise, I can’t do this alone.”

Her father doesn’t look convinced. “The boy is a criminal, Rapunzel.”

“That boy is also the best alchemist Corona has ever seen,” Rapunzel says, near pleading. “I can find where the rocks lead. I can see their end. But I can’t _understand_ them. I’m not an alchemist, Dad. Varian  _is_.”

“The only thing that boy is,” Nigel pipes up from the side, the advisor’s voice laden with disapproval, “is dangerous.”

Rapunzel grits her teeth. “I know that! I’m not saying he isn’t. But before two weeks ago, he was the only one to gain a reaction from the rocks!” She turns back to her father, resisting the urge to clasp her hands. This isn’t a plea—it’s a request. She is not a daughter asking a favor, but a citizen of Corona asking for help. “The _only one_ , Dad.”

“With disastrous results, daughter!”

The reminder of Quirin and his amber crypt makes her flinch. For a moment the memory of her dream is so real it is almost tangible. The cold stone beneath her bare toes burns like ice.

But the reminder of her dreams—of what inspired this plan in the first place—steadies her. _It has to be me._ She has dreamed of those words one too many times. There is no way that it’s a coincidence.

Rapunzel ignored her dreams once before, and it nearly cost her everything. She won’t make the same mistake twice.

“But still a reaction,” Rapunzel implores, pushing past the guilt. “I don’t need his alchemy, just his knowledge _about_ alchemy. Varian has as much reason as we do to want to understand the black rocks. I need his help, and he can’t help me while he’s in a cell.”

“He is dangerous,” her father repeats sternly. “I understand you wish to give him leniency, my dear, but to allow the boy to go free—!”

“He won’t be free,” Rapunzel says, though the words taste like ash in her mouth. She fights through it. Guilt can come later. She needs to convince her father _now._ “I’m not—I know, I know that what he’s done… it can’t be forgiven. I’m not asking you to let him go, Dad, I’m asking you to let me take him with us.”

“Even then, the risk of escape is too great.”

“It is though?” Rapunzel counters. “Eugene, Cassandra, and I—we are all decent fighters, Dad, you know this. Cassandra more so than us both. Varian—without his alchemy, Varian is just a kid.”

Her father taps his fingers against the arm of his throne, a heavy frown etched into his stern features. But for the first time since this conversation started, a line of tension in his brow has eased. “Rapunzel, I cannot allow you to take this risk.”

Rapunzel meets his gaze squarely. She is winning this verbal battle—she can tell. She has the advantage, and now she must do what her mother has taught her, and keep it. “No offense meant, your Majesty,” she says quietly, “but you aren’t at liberty to decide what risks I can or cannot take.”

It’s a low blow, but Rapunzel is tired of coddling her father. Her choices are hers, and though he says he knows this, it is time for him to prove it. She takes a deep breath and pushes onward. “My king,” she says, formal because she is serious and she wants her father to know this, “I need Varian’s help. Our _kingdom_ needs his help. He may be dangerous, but we’ll take precautions, and he’ll be under the watch of the finest warrior we have. It’s a risk, yes. But if we don’t do this…” She lets her voice trail off, lets the silence linger, before she finishes. “Then we will be putting the welfare of Corona at risk, instead.”

Her father sags back against the throne, one hand rising to pinch his brow, expression tight with internal strife. When he finally speaks again, his voice is muffled.

“I hope this idea isn’t merely born from your guilt, daughter.”

“No,” Rapunzel says. “Not guilt. I just want to help our people— _all_ of our people. I promise to be careful, but Dad—you said you trusted me to come back, when I go to follow the rocks. Please, trust this too! I can take care of myself. I _promise_.”

It’s the last words that get to him. Her father has learned how seriously Rapunzel considers her promises, even after Varian—or perhaps especially after Varian.

“Very well,” he says at last, reluctance in every word. “If you truly feel this strongly about it… I’ll trust you, my dear.”

Rapunzel bites back her smile and resists the urge to cheer. The court is no place to celebrate. She curtsies low, instead, head bowed to hide her glee at her victory. “Thank you, Dad.” She straightens up, and then she does smile, then, bright and firm. “I won’t let you down.”

Her father’s answering smile is a weak thing—but it is there. “Oh, Rapunzel. I have never any doubt about that. I only wish you to be safe.”

“And I will be safe, Dad.” Rapunzel meets his eyes. “I promise.”

He laughs at that, soft and sad. “Well, then. If you are certain.”

“I am,” Rapunzel says in reply. She bows one more time for good measure, and then strides confidently from the room. The court bursts into furious whispers behind her, but Rapunzel trusts her father to sway them to her side now that she has swayed him onto hers. She pushes open the doors without stopping, only waiting for Cassandra to exit. The moment her friend is through, she slams the door shut behind her with a loud sigh of relief, leaning back against the wood.

Moving to stand in front of her, Cassandra shuffles her feet, fabric shifting as she crosses her arms. For once, she doesn’t give Rapunzel time to catch her breath before interrogating her—though this time, Rapunzel can understand why.

“Are you sure about this?”

Rapunzel grimaces, shutting her aching eyes tight against her building headache. For a moment she considers giving Cassandra the same answer she gave her dad, but—this is Cassandra. _Cass_. She deserves the whole truth, not the false confidence Rapunzel has been projecting.

“Not really,” Rapunzel admits softly, near shamefully, and sags heavily against the door, leaning all her weight against it and just barely resisting the urge to sink to the floor. “I just… I know this doesn’t really make sense. And I know, you and Eugene…”

She sighs, unable to finish, her thoughts casting back to this morning. Eugene had protested her idea loudly and immediately, but Cassandra… Cassandra had just gone quiet.

Now, in the present, Cassandra pulls away, biting her lower lip and looking uncharacteristically uncertain. Her arms uncross, dangling loose by her sides, her defensive stance falling away. “Raps, it’s not… We just don’t want you…” She cuts herself off, making an angry noise in the back of her throat, before finally settling on, “I just don’t want you hurting yourself out of guilt, Raps.”

Her concern prompts a thin smile. “I know,” Rapunzel says, warmth in her heart. “And I really, _really_ appreciate it. But Cass, it’s not… I’m not doing this because of guilt.”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, so not completely because of guilt,” Rapunzel amends. “It’s just…” she trails off, glancing back to the door behind her, and pushes herself to her feet with a sigh. “Can we walk? I don’t want…” She gestures to the door, expression pleading.

Cassandra nods. “Okay. So long as I get answers.”

Rapunzel smiles at her. “You will. Thank you, Cass.”

“Yeah, yeah. Start walking, Raps.”

Rapunzel laughs softly, starting down the hall, Cassandra following close at her heels. The walk is calm and quiet, peaceful and comfortable, and as she wanders Rapunzel muses on her thoughts, pulls together words from otherwise vague feelings.

“I told my dad to go easy on Varian, that night,” she says, finally, when the words come. Cassandra eyes her, but says nothing, letting her finish. Rapunzel is pathetically grateful for it. “When they took him away. And… lately, I’ve been thinking… I’ve just, I’ve been running, Cass. Ever since the storm, I’ve been running from my problems, too scared to face them.”

At this, Cassandra’s face pinches. “What Varian did isn’t your fault, Raps. And it isn’t your problem.”

“No,” Rapunzel agrees. “But Varian— Varian _is_ my problem. I can’t keep expecting others to deal with him just because I’m…” It feels shameful, almost, to admit this aloud. But this is Cass, her best friend, and if Rapunzel can’t say it to her she can’t say it to anyone. “…Because I’m too afraid to look him in the eye.”

Cassandra grimaces at this, her shoulders falling in defeat. A sad smile tugs at her lips. “And this has nothing to do with the fact your father is notoriously hard on criminals? Especially those that hurt his family?”

Rapunzel gives a wry smile in return, thinking sadly on Attila. That had been a near crisis, and the speed with which the situation had spiraled still haunts her at times. “Well,” she says. “There is that, too.”

Cassandra purses her lips. They walk on, quiet for a few more halls, before she sighs loudly and says, “Okay, Raps. What are you planning?”

Rapunzel splutters, hands flailing in the air in her haste to deny this. Of course Cassandra has noticed. Of course. Rapunzel is so bad at hiding things. “I’m not planning anything!”

Cassandra doesn’t seem even remotely convinced. “Yeah, right. Spill, Rapunzel.”

“…You have to promise to keep this a secret.”

Cassandra does not look impressed with this clause. “Oh, like how you kept the night of your coronation secret—”

“Cass. Please?”

The unusually solemn tone of Rapunzel’s voice makes Cassandra pause, and she grumbles quietly for a few moments before exhaling loudly. “…Oh, fine.”

“Thanks, Cass,” Rapunzel says, meaning it. She can’t quite muster a smile in return, though, not about this. “Okay, so… I’m going to visit Varian tonight.”

“What?!”

“Shh!”

Cassandra lowers her voice to a hiss. “ _What?_ Raps, are you nuts?”

Rapunzel winces, drawing away from Cassandra’s ire. One hand rises up to tangle in her long hair. “I know, I know! I just… it doesn’t feel right, just dragging him after us. If he comes, I… I want him to make that choice, you know?”

Cassandra closes her eyes, one hand rising to pinch at her nose. “So, let me get this straight. You want us to sneak down into the dungeons—”

“Err, ah, I was thinking of going alone, actually.”

“—alone, wow, that makes me feel so much better. Okay. Whatever. You want to sneak in… and you want to talk with the homicidal teen who, may I remind you, _hates your guts_ , and _somehow_ convince him to travel with the people he dislikes most?”

“Well…” Rapunzel hedges, and waves her hand in the air back and forth like a seesaw. “…Yes?”

“Rapunzel.”

Ooh, the Voice of Doom. That doesn’t bode well. Rapunzel reaches out and grabs Cassandra’s hands, clasping them between hers and leaning closer. “Please, Cass,” she says, almost begging. “I know it doesn’t make sense, okay? I know. I… I can’t really explain it. I just, I have to do this.”

 _It has to be me._ Even if it’s only a dream, Rapunzel thinks the words have some merit. If Varian comes with them on the journey, if he cooperates, if he helps them… if they are ever to make amends, it will have to be his choice.

Cassandra looks away from Rapunzel’s earnest stare, shoulders slumping. Her face is twisted with indecision. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But you’re still going to do this?”

She feels awful saying this, but… this is Cassandra. She’ll understand. “Yes.”

“Ugh,” Cassandra says, and then pulls her hands from Rapunzel’s grasp. “Okay. …okay. I’ll help.” She sighs, loud and heavy, her whole body sinking with the sound. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Raps.”

Rapunzel manages a smile. “I do, too.” She leans forward on impulse, reaching out to wrap Cassandra in a bruising hug. “ _Thank you_ , Cass. I know this is hard for you, too.”

Cassandra hugs her back without hesitation. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, but there’s a smile in her voice. After a moment she pulls away and looks Rapunzel in the face, frowning slightly. “But Raps…You know Varian… you know he’ll be nasty. Right?”

“I know,” Rapunzel admits, shoulders slumping. “I’m ready for it. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.” She straightens, puts her hands on her hips, and beams. “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself, Cass.”

“Tonight? Sure,” Cassandra says. “But… Raps, if he travels with us, he’ll be nothing _but_ nasty. Are you sure you can handle that? He… I know, I know, this isn’t because of guilt but… he gets to you.” Cassandra bites her lip, hesitating briefly, then finally says, “He _hurts_ you.”

Rapunzel looks away.

“You’re right,” she says softly, eyes on the floor, because it’s true what Cassandra says, all of it. Ever since the storm, thinking of Varian makes her sick to her stomach, dizzy with uncertainty and indecision. “But… Cass, if I don’t do this? If I just leave Varian here and go on ahead… sure, the journey will probably be a lot more pleasant. But—”

She stares at the tiled floors until her vision blurs, and then lifts her eyes to Cassandra’s face. She takes Cassandra’s hand from her shoulder and squeezes her gloved fingers tight. “But if I do leave Varian here, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I have to do this.”

_It has to be me._

“I won’t run away,” Rapunzel says, with finality. “Not anymore.”

-

It is late when Rapunzel walks down into the dungeon, the moon is still high and the sun nowhere in sight. The whole castle is still and quiet, the streets empty, the guards few and scattered, stuck to their usual shifts. It’s easy to take a dark cloak, slip it over her shoulders, and walk down to the dungeons. Easier still for Rapunzel, who still walks barefoot more often than not, and whose footsteps are quieter than anyone else’s. Too many years sneaking across the stone floor of a tower.

Cassandra slips her out from her room, but even without her help from there on, Rapunzel finds her way to the dungeons with little fanfare.

No one sees her enter, and no one stops her. The rustle of her cloak and the soft patter of her footsteps are too soft for the guards to hear, and after a year in this castle—a year with Cassandra, especially—Rapunzel knows the guard shifts well enough to steer clear from their path with ease.

Sometimes she wonders if that was Cassandra’s intention all along.

Either way, it serves her well now. Not even the prisoners stir when Rapunzel slips through their halls, and the guards in front of the door are easily distracted. All it takes is a rock thrown down the hall and into a cell, and the commotion draws them away like moths to a flame, just as Eugene taught her. Pascal jumps from her shoulder to follow after them, just as planned—he’ll serve as the distraction, create more mischief, give Rapunzel more time.

Rapunzel knows too many tricks and turns, courtesy of her friends. No one would ever expect it of a princess, but then, in Rapunzel’s defense, she has only been a princess for little more than a year now. Besides, it’s useful.

She slips through the door of the solitary cell, closing it soundlessly behind her. Even with the guards distracted, she doesn’t want to risk being overheard. This has a high chance of going very, very badly.

The thought makes her stomach churn; her hands tremble. For a moment she wants to leave this cell behind and never look back, leave the issue of Varian in the capable hands of her father and mother and the courts.

But… no, she can’t. She has broken this promise too many times. Staying away and worrying instead of confronting her fears… that is what led to this whole mess in the first place.

Her hands still. Rapunzel takes a deep breath, and turns to the cell behind her.

He’s already awake. Watching her quietly through the bars, blue eyes cold from beneath his fringe. Silent and wide-eyed and staring.

She stares right back, refusing to cower. Her eyes search his frame, noting the missing apron, his shirt hanging off one bony shoulder and the blue cloth grayed from dust. He’s sitting cross-legged against the back wall, hands clutching a sleeping Ruddiger close to his chest. His shoulders are bowed, his head lowered, but his eyes glare up at her, gleaming in the thin moonlight from the lone window. There is no give in his expression. There is nothing in his face at all.

She should be angry, Rapunzel knows; she came prepared to be angry. But looking at him, she can’t find the strength. The sting of betrayal has dulled, now, turned dusty and bitter but bearable. It is hard to be angry when he looks like this—defiant, quiet, and—

Tired.

Yes, that’s the word. He looks tired. Stick thin and raggedy, his hair a tangled mess and growing out of its usual cut. His skin seems paler, his limbs thinner. It’s only been two weeks since they put him in here, but he looks like he hasn’t slept a wink since it happened—his eyes half-lidded and lined with exhaustion, shadowed by dark circles, like a thumbprint-sized bruise in the corner of his eyes.

Rapunzel searches his face, wondering. Once, she had been friends with this boy. Once he had smiled. Once he had seemed so much… lighter.

Once, once, once. What good is there in holding on to past neither of them can go back to?

She settles in front of him, just before the bars, in the same cross-legged position, sitting equal to him. Where his back is bent hers is unbowed, where his hands clutch hidden in Ruddiger’s fur, hers rest in plain view on her knees. They are imperfect reflections, imperfect mirrors.

“Hello, Varian,” Rapunzel says.

Something scornful tugs at his upper lip, creases his shadowed eyes. “Princess,” he says in return, and it is almost a curse. His voice is raspy and thin, hoarse from disuse. In the quiet it cracks like a whip.

Like always, guilt is a familiar tug at the pit of her stomach. It always is, when talking with Varian. The urge to fidget overcomes her, but Rapunzel pushes it down, keeps her hands still and poised, and her gaze steady.

“How are you?” she asks, though she doesn’t expect him to answer. She asks regardless, because if she doesn’t she thinks she will regret it.

Varian’s teeth grit and his lips pull back in a sneer. He doesn’t answer, and that is answer enough.

Rapunzel searches his face. “You haven’t been sleeping,” she observes lightly, and at the hollowness in his cheeks a thought strikes her and she frowns. “And you’re all skin and bones. Have the guards been feeding you?”

He scoffs, light and derisive, the sneer falling from his face as he shakes his head. His long hair hangs like a ragged shroud over his angry eyes. “Princess,” he says, and he must mean to make the words heated, but all he sounds is exhausted. “Why are you here?”

Her lips press in a thin line, but after a moment she lets the matter go. If the guards do have prejudice against Varian, she can find out in other ways. Besides, if he agrees, it is not their disapproval that Varian will have to worry about.

“I’m leaving,” Rapunzel tells him, abandoning the pretense of small talk. “In three days’ time, Cass, Eugene, and I will leave Corona to follow the black rocks. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, or how far they go. I could be gone weeks. Or months.”

“Leaving,” Varian repeats, toneless. Something dark and furious flashes over his face, deep and ugly and full of hatred. An emotion so bitter it almost hurts to see it. “I see. Do you expect me to care, Princess? It’s not as if this has anything to do with me.”

Rapunzel files the ugly look away for later consideration, but refuses to be swayed by it, or his words. She knew Varian would be nasty. She is prepared for it, now.

Where Varian is spiteful, Rapunzel remains calm. “In three days’ time, I am leaving,” Rapunzel repeats. Waits, but this time Varian says nothing, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. She takes a deep breath. Time for the moment of truth. “When I go,” she continues, “I would like you to come with me.”

The hostility drops from Varian’s face. His eyes go wide, surprise loosening his shoulders and startling him upright, mouth falling open, hands resting slack on Ruddiger’s fur. “What?” he says, sounding stunned. Then he seems to catch himself, and he draws back into a hostile little ball, eyes narrowing. “ _What?”_

Rapunzel remains impassive. “I want you to come with me, when I go after the rocks. It’s—it’s not freedom. Not entirely. But Varian, it’ll be better than this cell.”

Varian does not look sold on the idea. “Why?” he demands. “I don’t understand. What are you—”

“Varian,” Rapunzel interrupts, tired of his distrust, “I’m not an alchemist.”

Varian falls silent.

“It’s true that… that this journey is mostly about the welfare of Corona. The black rocks haven’t vanished. But I… if possible, if there is a way to free Quirin, free your father, I am looking for that too. But it was alchemy that trapped Quirin, and if it is alchemy, again, that’s needed to free him…” she trails off. “Only you, Varian. Only you can do that.”

It’s a logical reason. Best of all, it’s a reason that Varian cannot contest. But that is not Rapunzel’s only motive for coming here, for speaking with Varian, for offering this deal.

That night, as the rocks glowed blue as the sky and the automatons fell heavy to the earth, speared through at a mere twist of her will, Rapunzel had looked Varian full in the face. She had met his eyes as the last damning spike speared through his machine, and she had seen the agony in his expression and heard the despair in his voice as he screamed. Not angry, then. Not really. Just grieving.

Months ago, when Varian came to her for help, she turned him away. He left, and she let him leave, and even when the snowstorm faded, guilt over her actions and worry as to what she might find if she looked for him kept her away. She had prioritized herself, she had forgotten him, and the result had been catastrophic.

She is not to blame for Varian, not entirely—he was right to be angry with her, but he was not right to do what he did. Rapunzel knows that. But as the guards led Varian away, and as her father promised to go easy on him, Rapunzel had been struck with a sense of foreboding.

She forgot Varian once, and nearly lost everyone she loved as a result. She had, in fact, lost a friend. Leaving him behind once again, leaving the problem of Varian in the hands of her parents, simply because Varian makes Rapunzel uncomfortable is… it isn’t right. She isn’t sure what it is, but it isn’t right.

Her dreams, strange and troubled, have only served to further that notion.

So this—this deal, this last chance—this is Rapunzel’s solution. She needs to follow the black rocks, needs to stop running from her destiny. But just because she must move forward doesn’t mean she has to leave Varian behind. In a way, this is Rapunzel’s penance. Even if he scorns her offer, even if he spits in her face, at the very least she had the courage to try.

Rapunzel is not at fault for Varian. But she knows that she is not entirely free of blame, either. She is learning to live with that.

“You don’t have to come,” Rapunzel says, when Varian doesn’t reply. “Ultimately, the choice is yours. I won’t force you to go. But… it’s an option.”

At last, life flickers back to Varian’s eyes. “No,” he snaps coldly, and his voice rises in both pitch and fury, shaking with barely restrained emotion. “No, no! I don’t need your help _or_ your pity! I can free my father on my own. I’ll make him proud, and I won’t need _your_ help to do it, ‘Princess.’Get out. I won’t go.”

Rapunzel looks him the eyes, unfaltering in her resolve. If it was just a refusal, she’d leave without question, but—his logic is flawed, blinded by denial, and she could leave it here, she knows, but—she won’t. Not about this. “Varian,” she says, bracing herself. “You can’t.”

He bares his teeth at her, eyes wide and angry. “I can’t  _what_?”

“Do this on your own anymore,” Rapunzel says, simply. When his shoulders draw back and that awful anger reemerges, she pushes on, unrelenting. “Varian, _look around you_. You’re in a cell. You’re a criminal! My hair didn’t work, the flower didn’t work, none of your machines worked—this, where the rocks are leading, this is the last chance! And you’ll get nowhere so long as you’re stuck in here.”

He flies to his feet, shaking head to toe. Ruddiger, awake now, scrambles from his lap to his shoulders, pawing anxiously at the boy’s face. His comfort goes unnoticed. Varian is trembling, hands curled into angry fists, every part of him drawn tight and furious, as if bracing for a blow. His shriek is near breathless with rage. “You don’t know that!”

Rapunzel refuses to match his anger. She holds onto her composure and calm with grit-tooth determination. No matter how angry Varian becomes, no matter what he says to her, Rapunzel refuses to rise up to the bait. “Okay. Then what are you going to do?”

“I can escape—”

“With what?” she asks. His apron, his tools, even his gloves—all gone. His empty hands clutch at his sides.

“I, I can talk with other prisoners or—”

“No one else is near your cell.”

His voice is rising. “I’ll hold you hostage, then!”

“I nearly won the competition for the strongest warrior in all Seven Kingdoms, Varian,” Rapunzel says, a plea in her voice. It hurts to see this, but it would be worse to leave him in denial. “Do you really think you can?”

“I—” Varian says, “I—I can— _I can_ —!”

He stops, breath stilling and eyes going wide, his voice caught on the words he cannot finish. His chest heaves as though he has just run a marathon. All and any color has drained from his face, his eyes hollow, lips pale and bloodless.

“You can go with me,” Rapunzel says, her gentle voice shattering the sudden silence, “and discover the secrets of the rocks firsthand.

Varian’s voice breaks into what sounds suspiciously close to a sob. His hands fly up to cover his face, and he rocks back hard on his heels, bowing into himself. Guilt strikes deep at Rapunzel’s gut, but then, she is growing used to guilt, where Varian is concerned. She doesn’t react. He needs to understand this. He has to. There is no kindness in letting him delude himself to the truth, not now.

People put so much faith in lies, in denial, in hiding harsh truths. Rapunzel grew up in lies, her whole life drenched in them. She has no more patience for it. No mercy for it. Lies are rarely ever for the benefit of the person being lied to. If nothing else, Mother Gothel taught her that much.

“Varian,” Rapunzel says, “This is—these are your options. You can go with me, still a prisoner, and have a chance at saving Quirin. Or you can stay here, and… and take whatever comes.”

Varian’s hands stay pressed against his eyes, and he curls into himself, bent nearly double, a moment away from collapse. He doesn’t answer. On his shoulders, Ruddiger chitters and paws at his face, crooning softly.

After a moment Varian sucks in a shuddering breath, hands finally dropping from his face. He pulls himself straight as if there is a string at the base of his spine, forcing him to stand tall. His hands are trembling faintly. His eyes are red-rimmed and watery in the dull light, but his cheeks are dry, and the sheer force of hatred in his expression stuns her.

“Tell me, Princess.” To his credit, Varian’s voice is only the slightest bit strangled. “How long did it take for the king to agree to this?” Something bitter tugs at his mouth. “Or— _oh,_ your mother?”

Rapunzel winces. “Nearly an hour,” she admits. Adds, before he can reply, “But it doesn’t matter what they think.”

Shame curls like a vice around her throat at the words, but she doesn’t take them back, and when Varian’s head lifts in surprise she gives him a wan smile. “I want this to be your choice, and your choice alone. If you decide to go, then you’ll go. If you decide otherwise… then I’ll just tell them I changed my mind. Simple.”

He bares his teeth at her in a facsimile of a grin. “And if _they_ change their minds?”

Rapunzel smiles, giving nothing away. “Varian,” she says. “If you decide to go, you’ll go. Trust me.”

This doesn’t seem to bring him comfort. His lip curls in distaste, and he shakes his head like she’s disappointed him. “Oh,” he says. “Is this another one of your _promises_?”

Rapunzel closes her eyes, hiding her flinch. “No.” She’s learned that lesson, too. Her eyes open again, slow and careful, lost in thought. “Think of it more like… a guarantee.”

Varian’s eyes search her face, and then drop, contemplative, to the floor. His hands fall to his sides. His shoulders slump. He looks, for one moment, so very young.

“I don’t trust you, _Rapunzel,_ ” he says, and even though his voice is dull, the venom is as sharp as ever. His eyes rise slowly, meeting her own unfaltering gaze. His smile is a small, bitter and hateful thing. “But I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Rapunzel doesn’t reply, just watches him. After a moment, Varian’s piercing stare wanders away again. His legs fold, collapse beneath him, returning him to the original cross-legged position. Equals, once more.

“I need to think,” he says, tone brooking no argument. “I don’t have your answer yet, ‘Princess.’”

Rapunzel nods, so relieved to hear this she feels nearly lightheaded. “That’s fair. I did spring this on you rather unexpectedly.” She stands, gathering the dark cloak around her shoulders and brushing the dust from her clothes, Varian watching her warily from the corner of his eye. “We’re heading out sometime in the next few days. That’s all the time I can give you.”

She makes to leave, but at the last second, pauses at the door and turns back to look at him. “Varian,” she says. “Please tell me. Are the guards giving you enough food?”

Still sitting in the cell, Varian scoffs, sagging back against the wall. “Why’s it matter?” he asks, the sneer apparent in his voice. “Whether they do or don’t, I wouldn’t eat it anyways.” He laughs, sharp and bitter. “I’m not an idiot—I know some of them probably want revenge. As if I would trust your food, ‘Princess.’”

Ah. The laced cookies. She remembers.

Rapunzel looks at him for a long moment. “Surprisingly enough, Varian,” she says at last, soft, mild, calm— “Not everyone is like you.”

His eyes go wide and startled, and then something unnamable passes over his face, but before he can respond Rapunzel has already turned away. “I’ll send more food up, for you and Ruddiger both,” she tells the prison door. “It’ll be safe. If you want confirmation I’ll make it myself, or someone can try it before you do, to be sure.” She waits. Whatever it is he wished to say before, now Varian is quiet.

“Goodbye, Varian,” Rapunzel says. “I’ll be back. I hope you find your answer soon.”

She slips out the door and into the hall, down the path and through the gates, Pascal dropping from above into her cloak—leaving as quietly as she entered, as swift and unseen as a ghost.

-

Long after Rapunzel has left, Varian is still wide awake.

He’ll pay for this insomnia later, he knows; years of working on projects has left him with plenty of experience with what happens when Varian tries to function on too little sleep. Rambling, mistakes, fainting. Broken beakers and hour-long lectures.

Well. No lectures, now. Not anymore.

His feet are wearing grooves in the floor by now, and Ruddiger has abandoned him to sleep on Varian’s untouched prison cot. He feels a bit guilty about that—Ruddiger deserves a restful sleep. It is not easy for animals to stay locked up in small rooms, let alone a prison cell. The fact Ruddiger has remained with him is… it is something Varian doesn’t really know what to do with. Doesn’t really understand. He knows, if nothing else, that he doesn’t deserve it.

Yet, here Ruddiger is.

As they have for the past few hours, Varian’s thoughts once again stray back to Rapunzel, and her offer. If he took it, would Ruddiger come with him? See the open air and run more freely, only Varian in chains?

He scowls at the ground and turns sharply on his heel before he can hit the wall. Eight steps across, twelve vertical, thirty blocks high. His cell is small and cluttered, just barely enough for one person and even then, it’s enough to make Varian near claustrophobic. He can’t imagine staying here for the rest of his life. The very idea makes him feel ill.

_What are you going to do, Varian?_

Damn Rapunzel anyway. What does she know? Varian—he can do plenty. Even if he’s in this cell now, there’s no reason for him to be here forever. And… maybe he can escape, one day, escape and find a way to—

Find a way to…

 _Damn_ her.

That’s the worst part about Rapunzel’s offer, Varian thinks, only a little bitter. It’s that she is right.

He has no idea how to escape. No idea where to start once escaping, either: the flower and Rapunzel’s magic hair didn’t work, none of his alchemy did anything but make the problem worse, and Varian…

He’s trying. He’s trying and trying and _trying_ , but he can’t—he can’t think of anything. Not a single thing. _What next,_ he keeps asking himself, _what next,_ but the answer is blank. For the first time, there’s no solution. No possibilities. Just… questions without answers, and no way to solve them.

This alone is what kept him from spitting back the offer in Rapunzel’s face, no matter how much he’d wanted to. If Varian is to have any chance of freeing his father… it won’t be in this cell.

He has to get out. But he has no fellow prisoners to manipulate, no weapons to use, no inside knowledge. No friends to rely on. Just himself, and Ruddiger, and this cell specifically chosen to keep him contained. Smaller bars, smaller windows, slim chance of getting himself _or_ Ruddiger through. No way out.

In a way, Rapunzel’s offer is a dream come true. It is also an opportunity. In any other circumstance, the information she’d offered and the journey itself all lend chances for an escape.

He’d call her naive, except that for once, Rapunzel has caught _him_ in a trap. He could escape easily, if he put his mind to it—outside of this cell, there is plenty to fight with. But the secret of the black rocks… the mystery calls to him like a siren song. _Once last chance._ Once last hope. One final attempt to save his father.

No matter what. Varian had sworn. _I’ll make you proud, no matter what becomes of me._ Even if meant making an enemy of the king. Or betraying Corona. Or kidnapping the Queen.

Even if it now means playing nice with the people who betrayed him.

Eight steps across, twelve vertical, thirty blocks high. 480 and 720 steps in an hour. No chalk, no rocks—nothing to write with and nothing to do. In this cell, Varian is _useless._

Restless, Varian marches to the window and tugs futilely at the window bars. The night wind drifts over his uncovered hands, making his hair stand on end and his skin crawl. The metal bars are so cold they burn against his bare palm. He grits his teeth and holds on until Ruddiger chitters in worry at his feet.

“I don’t want to,” Varian whispers down to him. The one weakness he’ll allow himself. “I don’t want to.”

Ruddiger croons up at him and tugs at his pant leg. No judgment in those blank eyes. Varian has used Ruddiger, manipulated him for his own gain, and while at the time it made perfect sense, now the thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. The raccoon is the one creature left that hasn’t turned on Varian, even though Varian has given the animal every reason to. These past two weeks had been hell, but he knows they would have been so much worse without Ruddiger by his side.

Varian sinks to his knees, finally releasing the window bars. His skin crawls from the memory of the cold. The stone floor presses hard and unyielding against his knees. Varian reaches out and pulls Ruddiger to him, digging his fingers into the raccoon’s soft pelt to comb out the tangles with his nails. After a moment he gives in and buries his face into Ruddiger’s fur instead, hiding shameful tears from view.

Ruddiger croons, and a cold nose presses against Varian’s ear. He laughs, the sound wet and broken, and pulls back to shake his head, wiping away the tears in his eyes with the back of his hand.

“One last chance,” Varian murmurs. His eyes go distant. “I won’t let you down, Dad.”

His fingers tighten in Ruddiger’s pelt. The raccoon chitters and paws at Varian’s leg, worry and uncertainty in those wide dark eyes—but this time, no matter how hard Ruddiger tries, Varian does not respond.

-

Two days later, Rapunzel returns. This time, she doesn’t come alone—Pascal resting regally on her shoulder, and two familiar-looking guards flanking her sides.

In the daylight, Varian can see her more clearly now. Her expression is defiant and bold, her usual purple dress replaced with a dark royal purple tunic and riding pants. Still no shoes. A frying pan is cinched to her waist and her hair is tied back in a secure bun, the remaining loose strands gathered together to create a secure braid, far stronger than her usual lax tie.

Two weeks is not that long a time. But the outfit change, and the new hairstyle, and the look on her face as she watches him through the bars… she seems different, somehow changed from that battle in Old Corona. More resolute. Stronger.

For some reason, this thought makes his skin crawl. Spite prompts Varian to refuse to look away from that annoyingly knowing gaze, sneering at her until her eyes drop away. He hates the way she looks at him, as if she’s trying to figure him out. It pisses him off. It’s not like Varian’s motives are _confusing._

“Varian,” Rapunzel says, in lieu of a greeting. “Have you decided?”

He waits, letting the silence stretch, watching. The guards fidget, their eyes darting to and fro. Rapunzel doesn’t flinch.

“Yes,” he says, finally, when the silence has lasted long enough to become uncomfortable. He takes pleasure in watching the guards shift with unease, even if Rapunzel herself doesn’t react, the spoilsport. “I’ll go.”

Rapunzel closes her eyes and dips her head in a nod, her exhale a slow and shuddering sigh. “Okay,” she says. She takes a deep breath and straightens, shoulders pushed back, her lapse of composure vanished as if it had never happened. “Pete, Stan, if you would?”

Varian feels his stomach drop, and in his lap, Ruddiger squeaks in worry at the sudden stiff hold Varian has on his fur. “Wait—we’re, we’re going now?”

Rapunzel looks at him. “Yes,” she says, cautiously. “We’re leaving in another half-hour. I gave you as much time as I could.”

She doesn’t ask if it’s okay with him, or if he’s prepared to leave. Varian grits his teeth. “Fine,” he bites out, and stands, brushing the dirt off his clothes. When the guards enter his cell, it takes effort not to flinch, and he manages to keep his sneer in place even as they loom over him, the heavy chains clinking in their hands.

The chains pinch his thin wrists, heavy and thick, with only a small bit of chain between them to allow for minimal movement of his hands, enough to allow him to exercise but not enough to give him total free range. A longer chain, like the lead of a horse, is connected to it. At his feet similar chains are clasped around his bare ankles, only instead of a lead, he gets an iron ball on a long tether tied to his right foot.

It’s excessive to the point of being ridiculous. Varian doesn’t know whether to be offended or pleased that they consider him this much of a threat.

It takes him a bit to pick up the iron ball, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface and movement hindered by the new restraints on his wrists, but the guards wait patiently for him to get a grasp on it before they gently push him from the cell. Varian nearly stumbles regardless, just barely catching himself before he can trip on his new shackles.

On the floor, thus far darting between the legs of all these new visitors, Ruddiger scolds them from below, jumping up and scrambling for his usual place on Varian’s shoulders. His cold nose digs into Varian’s neck, tiny claws pricking at his collarbone. It’s as if Ruddiger is saying, _Here I am_ , and Varian relaxes slightly in response.

One of the guards startles at Ruddiger’s motion, reaching out, but Rapunzel intercepts the guard before Varian can think to panic. “No,” she says. “Don’t worry. Ruddiger can stay.” She turns to meet Varian’s eyes. Varian stares back, jaw clenched. He refuses to thank her, but he can’t deny his relief.

Rapunzel purses her lips, and then her shoulders drop. “The restraints are just for until we reach the border wall, and then only at nights, except for the ball-and-chain on your leg. I’m sorry, but that one is for the whole journey. This was non-negotiable.” Her lips twist, just faintly, and Varian has a sudden notion on whose idea this was. Apparently, the king holds one hell of a grudge. It almost makes him want to laugh.

“It doesn’t matter,” he tells her. “I don’t care either way.”

Rapunzel sighs. “If you say so.” She picks the lead chain connected to his handcuff and waves the guards away when they reach to help. “No, it’s fine. I’ll take him. Thank you for escorting me.” She smiles as they walk away, then drops the chain like it’s made of molten lava and takes Varian’s elbow instead. When he tries to wrench away, she holds fast.

“Don’t,” she says firmly, but there’s something tired in her voice. “I know you hate me, Varian, okay? Just… please. Wait until we’re outside the capital city?”

He glares at her, but this time when she pulls him forward, he doesn’t fight. Just stares at the ground and counts the stones as they wander through the dark halls of the prison. Their footsteps echo off the walls, their wheezing breaths frightfully loud in the morning calm.

Above them, the world moves on. The sun is shining, the city slowly waking. Cassandra and Eugene and the kingdom all going about their lives without a clue of what is to come. Farther on, Old Corona lies undisturbed without her lone inhabitant, and his father sleeps in the unbreakable crystal. And beyond them—beyond the wall, beyond the Kingdom of Corona, beyond it all—a path of black stone, heading out into the horizon.

_One last chance._

Varian won’t fail again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so our tale begins…
> 
> I didn’t intend for Ruddiger to be so present when I started writing this, but he just snuck his way in. That raccoon is pet goals, honestly. So kind and cute and fluffy. Varian is so lucky to have him.
> 
> (Also, that earlier dream scene, while weird as heck, is full of foreshadowing for future events of the story…. :3c Can you guess what it all means?)
> 
> [Link to Rec and Reblog?](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/174320852562/title-labyrinths-of-the-heart-summary-plagued-by) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts??


	2. The Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug— if any of you are wondering on how I’m writing these characters or want a bit more insight on how I view their perceptions of Varian’s betrayal, I have a series called Internal Tangles. All short stories, maybe 1000 words tops, but they basically serve as a good overview of how I think these characters view and see Varian. Cass, Rapunzel, and Eugene’s are especially informative for this fic, as that is how I see them and how I am writing them. You don’t have to read them to understand this story, but I thought I’d throw that out there.
> 
> Warnings for some cursing and past self-destructive behavior. If there’s anything you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add them to this list.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

“That’ll be twelve copper pieces.” 

Tugging at her hood to keep her signature hair hidden, Rapunzel gives the man a winning smile, raising her voice to be heard over the growing murmur of the market crowd. “Twelve pieces? For only four apples?”

The shopkeeper does not look impressed. “What, do you want me to raise it to sixteen pieces?”

“Um—”

Eugene places a hand on her shoulder, winking at her. “I got this, Blondie,” and Rapunzel steps away from the stand, bemused, letting Eugene take her place.

“My good sir! Concerning the price of these apples—”

Laughing softly at Eugene’s enthusiastic approach at bartering, Rapunzel bows out of the conversation, grateful for the save. She’s had some practice with bargaining, but there is a whole new level of anxiety involved now that she’s outside of Corona—here, Rapunzel cannot afford to be recognized, and it makes every public outing a nerve-wracking experience. It doesn’t help that Rapunzel dislikes haggling by nature.

Still, despite her nerves, she is grateful for the experience. Her eyes wander over the marketplace, bright and bustling despite the early hour, shops stuffed full to burst and the noise of the crowd mingling with the music of the players down the street. It’s a delightful mix of chaos and camaraderie, and Rapunzel closes her eyes, tilting back her head to soak in the sunlight and joyful atmosphere.

They’ve only been here for a few hours now, her and Eugene, had arrived when the morning was still blue and mystical, and the shops just starting to open. The apple stall is their last stop, ingredients for a treat Rapunzel plans to practice making later this week. Already they have bought everything else they need—a new blanket, food for the next few days, some tools for the journey should things go wrong. Soon they’ll be able to set upon the road again, heading out once more into the distant horizon.

It’s only been a week since they left Corona behind, but it feels so much longer. Traveling on the road for days and nights on end is a new experience to Rapunzel, but it is one she is tentatively enjoying. The world beyond Corona’s walls is just as beautiful as she always dreamed, and so much bigger than she could have ever imagined. She loves the similarities between here and her city; loves the differences even more.

Admittedly, the journey would be made infinitely better if they could sleep in real beds—every time they happen across a town, Rapunzel looks longingly at the inns—but alas, Varian’s presence requires more secrecy. No matter how wonderful a homecooked meal and mattress would be, it is not worth the questions about Varian’s chains or the risk of the alchemist grabbing hold of a possible weapon. The first few nights were rough, even with the absence of her strange dreams, but Rapunzel is growing used to the hard earth, the noises of the forest and crackle of a dying fire. They may not be traveling by a real road, may never know when the next town or river may appear, but the journey is quickly becoming an experience Rapunzel is appreciating to the fullest. The forests, the sights, the marketplaces and foreign cities— she wants to see them all, wants to fill her journal pages with a million paintings of all these new and wondrous things.

Lost in thought, she starts badly when Eugene slings an arm around her shoulder, nearly elbowing him from sheer surprise. His smile is wide and mischievous. He holds up the bag of four apples and swings it with glee before bending down to kiss her noisily on the cheek.

“Six pieces,” he whispers in her ear, and Rapunzel laughs brightly, turning in his grasp to hug him around the neck.

“Half price!”

“Was there ever any doubt, Blondie?” Eugene asks, chin tilted up, smile glittering in the sun. “I am a master of both verbal and practical— ah…”

“Thieving?” Rapunzel teases, smiling slyly up at him.

Eugene swallows hard and tugs nervously at his shirt collar. “Maybe not so loud?” he offers, chuckling uneasily. “Ooh, those guards are eyeing me, I just know it.”

“Maybe they’re impressed by—ah, what do you always say…”

“Ravishing and devilishly handsome features?”

Rapunzel lets her head fall against his shoulder, shaking with laughter. “Yes, yes! That!”

“Hm, perhaps. I _am_ rather dashing.” His hand goes to her chin, and he lifts up her face. “But maybe they’re captivated by this wondrous beauty right here?”

Rapunzel smacks his arm, but her smile is wide and beaming, heat in her cheeks. “Oh, enough!”

“You’re as red as the apples!” Eugene hoots back, and scampers off with a cackling laugh when Rapunzel lunges for him.

After a short and merry chase around the market, in which three carts and four horses were involved but not harmed, Rapunzel and Eugene finally make their way back to the campsite. The sun has fully risen by now, beating hot and relentless on the backs of their necks, but the morning is still young. The breeze is cool, the streets outside of the market free of clutter and crowds. It’s a beautiful day, Rapunzel thinks to herself, and smiles.

It takes about another half-hour to escape the confines of the town, their campsite set deeper in the woods, as close to the rock path they can be without risking the spikes. The black rocks have mostly flattened themselves into a smooth pathway, but near the edges, a few still stick up, enough so that they cannot risk camping too close to the makeshift road.

Rapunzel considers them lucky that path has, thus far, brought them to enough villages to allow them to restock. Luckier still that the path has yet to actually go _through_ a village; she doubts that Varian will react well if that should happen.

Regardless, it is a bit of a walk to their resting place. Food is important, of course, but no one wants to risk accidentally losing site of the path in the forest. The whole way back, making their way through the heavy brush, Rapunzel and Eugene talk and tease one another, Pascal squeaking insults on Rapunzel’s shoulder.

Deeper into the woods, the world is darker and colder, the tall trees blocking out the sun’s light and warmth more securely than any of the village banners. It is no less beautiful, however—all the flowers are bursting in full bloom, the trees a vivid green, the songbirds singing relentlessly in the tall branches.

It is with a smile that Rapunzel returns to camp, one bag of goods slung casually over her shoulder. “Ta-da!” she says, feet set and free hand flung out, smile wide and beaming. Her cheeks are flushed pink from exertion. “We have returned!”

“Bearing gifts!” Eugene chimes in from beside her.

On the other end of the campsite, Cassandra looks up from where she’d been stroking their fire, sitting cross-legged on a huge tree root to better poke at the coals.  Her smile is sly and fond. “About time!” she calls back, and waves at them with the smoldering branch.

Rapunzel crosses over to her, picking her footing carefully. Their current camp is a small little niche in-between a grove of trees, the dense foliage keeping the smoke of their low campfire hidden from view. The thick tree roots make good seats, but become far more troublesome when she’s trying to walk.

“Sorry! There was a morning market in the main square, and there was just—” She struggles for a proper descriptor, and eventually settles with, “So _much!_ ”

Cassandra laughs at her. “Got lost, did you?”

On the other side of the clearing comes a scoff of derision. “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Varian says dully, giving them both a bland look of distaste. He is sitting as far from the fire one can get without being out of sight, the chain of his shackles looped securely around the tree to keep him from moving, a precaution they take every night and whenever they split up. The iron ball of his leg cuffs sits in his lap, Ruddiger munching on fruit in the tree above Varian’s head. “Then you’d be gone forever. _So_ glad to see you’re finally back, Princess.” He turns his glare on Cassandra before Rapunzel can think of a reply. “There’s more than two people here. Can you untie me now?”

Cassandra stares back, expression icy, smile dropping from her face. “Say please.”

Varian’s lips draw back from his teeth in a sneer. “Can you _please_ untie me now?”

“I’ve got it,” Rapunzel says tiredly, her cheer fading. A faint headache pulses behind her eyes. “Just let me put this down, Varian, and I’ll—”

“Don’t sweat it, Blondie,” Eugene interrupts, already moving past her, bag dumped into Cassandra’s arms. Rapunzel’s lady-in-waiting blinks down at it like she thinks it might grow arms and attack her. “I got ‘im. Go help _Cassandra_ get the fire going. The heat is poison to her icy personality, you know?” He cackles at his own joke, and starts untangling Varian’s chain from the tree.

Cassandra looks more bemused than irritated at Eugene’s comment. “You need the key to unlock the clasp—”

“Got it!”

Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Never mind.”

Rapunzel shakes her head with a fond smile, deeply relieved and trying to hide it, heading over to the fire with Cassandra to start cooking breakfast. She watches from the corner of her eye as Eugene unlocks the chain from Varian’s shackles, throwing the extra chainlinks over his shoulder as he picks the lock to Varian’s handcuffs. Those he slips into his belt, before finally picking up the iron ball to plop in Varian’s hands, steadying him at the last possible second when Varian almost tips at the unexpected weight.

“Watch it,” Varian snarls.

“Sorry, sorry! I forget how heavy those things are!”

Varian gives him an irritated look and slowly picks his way towards the fire, reluctance painted clear across his face. He’s shivering though, and his fingertips look pale from the morning chill, and eventually his desire to be warm must win out, because he doesn’t turn around.

When he passes out from under the shadow of the tree, Ruddiger, settled above Varian on the branches, drops down on his shoulders. The sudden weight of unexpected raccoon nearly sends Varian sprawling—except this time, instead of snapping back, Varian is smiling when he picks himself up, something small and reserved only for the raccoon on his shoulder.

“Watch your step,” Eugene calls after him, and the smile falls away. It is with a sullen expression that Varian joins them by the fire, settling as far from Cassandra and Rapunzel he can get while still staying near the heat. He eases the iron ball down gingerly, sighing with relief once the weight is gone, holding his hands and feet out to the flame. The firelight catches on the shiny metal restraints on his skinny ankles, highlights the growing bruises on his wrists.

Rapunzel doesn’t even realize she is staring until Varian’s head snaps up, catching her watching him. He looks momentarily startled, and then his eyes narrow and his face twists, mouth opening—

Eugene plops beside the boy with an overblown sigh, startling Varian upright and away, wariness and dislike flashing in his eyes as he turns towards Eugene instead. Whatever it was Varian wanted to say to Rapunzel is abruptly forgotten, his ire diverted.

Rapunzel draws her gaze away, her gut twisting into knots. Varian is snapping something, voice furious, and Eugene is responding as he always does—with laughter and a forced light-heartedness that hurts to hear.

This time, Rapunzel isn’t really paying attention. She watches the fire hiss and burn, and closes her eyes against the sting of smoke.

-

After their breakfast of dried fruit and hot gruel with honey has been eaten, and their new supplies added with the rest, they start the usual routine of clean-up. After a week of travel, they have finally settled into their assigned roles, and where once this task took them hours, now it barely takes them one—if they are lucky they’ll be setting out before noon, with plenty of daylight with which to travel by.

Rapunzel busies herself with organizing the supplies and tying them in packs. After years of rearranging the same room in her tower, she has a knack for knowing just how to place things so that they all fit, even when they really, really shouldn’t. The first time Cassandra saw her do this she’d almost dropped their pot in shock.

Rapunzel finishes her task early, her skill lending her an upper hand. While usually she would find some other chore to do—hiding the remnants of their campsite to ward off any pursuers, finding food for Max and Ruddiger, things like that—today Rapunzel has something else in mind, and she makes her way across the small clearing to Eugene’s side.

Cassandra had taken great glee in giving Eugene his task, probably because it was so boring. He got to find a water source, boil water over the remnants of their fire, then wait until it cooled to poor into their drinking cans. Cassandra called it being ‘water gatherer.’ Eugene called it ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’

Eugene is sitting cross-legged on the log with his eyes lidded in boredom, watering the steaming water cool. Rapunzel bites back a smile and glides up to his side.

His head snaps up at her arrival, his expression startled, but once he sees her, his face melts into a warm smile that sends Rapunzel’s heart fluttering. She loves how happy he always is to see her. She loves that she makes him happy. She loves that when she sees him, she makes the same exact look.

“Blondie!” Eugene says, grabbing her arm and tugging her down beside him on the tree root. “Come to help?”

She tucks a stray strand behind her ear. “Do you need it?”

He looks down at the pot—no longer steaming, but still warm—and laughs. “Oh, probably not. Keep me company, then; the wait is agonizing.”

“Well, you are _literally_ watching water boil. Or… cool?”

“I am so aware of this, Blondie, and you pointing it out isn’t making it any less—”

“Soul-crushingly boring?”

He blinks at her. “Why, yes! How’d you know I was going to say that?”

Rapunzel settles beside him, leaning into his side and laughing softly. “Eugene, that’s what you _always_ say.”

He looks aghast at the news. “What! No!”

“Yep.”

“It can’t be!”

She pats his shoulder, grinning wide. On her head, Pascal gives an unsympathetic squeak. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

He clasps a hand solemnly to his chest. “Like an arrow to the heart,” he agrees soulfully, and then arches one eyebrow at her, his humor abruptly giving way to a serious look. “ _Speaking_ of the truth… c’mon, Blondie. What’s up?”

Rapunzel startles at the change in subject, but recovers quickly. She crosses her arms and scowls back at him. “Nothing’s up!”

“Usually you go do all the odd jobs when you finish, but you’ve left them to _Cassandra,_ which isn’t like you at all. Soooo…” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Wanna clue me in?”

Rapunzel winces, smiling sheepishly as she tangles a hand in her hair. First Cassandra, and now Eugene. Rapunzel isn’t _that_ bad at hiding things, is she?

“…It’s about Varian.”

Eugene’s face darkens at the name, smile falling into a worried frown. “If the kid said something—”

“No, no!” Rapunzel says, then amends, “Well, nothing more than usual. I was just wondering…” She mulls over it, trying to find the best way to word it. “Are you trying to protect me? From Varian, I mean.”

Eugene purses his lips in a poor attempt at looking innocent. “Whaaaaa—” He sees the look on Rapunzel’s face and coughs into his hand. “Protecting is a strong word. Err, maybe shielding?”

“Eugene.”

“Look, Blondie, I know better than anyone else—you don’t need taking care of.” He smiles at her, pride and love bright in his eyes. “But Varian… the kid’s got one ugly streak in him, and Blondie, I know you. You try to see the good in everyone. Even in people like Varian.” He cups her face with his hand, one thumb rubbing at her cheek. “Or me,” he admits softly.

Rapunzel bites her lip. “I don’t—what are you saying? That by trying to see the good, I’m…?”

“Varian gets to you,” Eugene says gently, when Rapunzel is unable to finish. “You feel awful, and guilty, and you want to make it up to him… you told me as much, remember? But he’s also—let’s face facts here—kid’s an awful person with an ugly temper and even uglier mouth.”

He gives her a quiet smile. “Blondie, I’ll be frank—it’s a great thing, what you’re doing. That optimism… it’s changed a lot of people. Maybe it can help Varian too. But until that happens, he’s going to use it against you. He’s going to try to hurt you. I was never really friends with the kid, not like you were. It won’t hurt me as much as it would hurt you.”

Rapunzel searches his face. “So,” she says. “Shielding.”

Eugene beams at her. “Shielding.” He winks. “If it makes you feel better, I do it for Cassandra, too. Kid’s really got it out for her.”

It doesn’t make her feel any better, but Rapunzel musters a small smile instead of saying so. “…Yeah.”

Something in her voice must give her away, because Eugene turns to face her fully, going on one knee, clasping her hand between his. “Look, Rapunzel. You are the strongest person I know. You know that, right? You can take that mouthy little kid in heartbeat. Cassandra too.” He squeezes her fingers. “But you don’t _have_ to. Varian may be your problem, I know, I know—but you don’t have to deal with him alone, even if you can.” He grins at her. “Let me do this for you, just this once. Okay?”

Rapunzel smiles again, small but genuine. “Okay,” she agrees. Eugene cackles in delight and kisses her palm, and she laughs outright. “Ah, it tickles!”

“The Princess _is_ ticklish! I knew it!”

“You  _already_ knew that,” Rapunzel argues back, and when Eugene settles back on the log, leans against his shoulder. He puts his arms around her, rocking her back and forth beside him.

Nestled in Eugene’s warm grasp, Rapunzel looks out at their campsite, almost completely vanished. Max, dragging a branch around to hide their footsteps, Cassandra tying up the saddle bag and making sure all is in working order. On the far side of the grove, Varian is hefting a heavy bucket filled with water—as has become routine, he is on fire duty. Cassandra had insisted, mostly, Rapunzel suspects, because it’s the worst job besides water gatherer, which Cass will never put Varian on. Too afraid that he might poison the water supply, probably.

Rapunzel watches Varian lug around the bucket, face flushed with exertion, struggling to pull the iron ball behind his chained feet. His overgrown fringe hangs limp in his face, his skinny arms trembling. His teeth are grit so hard it looks like it hurts. He should look angry, and yet… he looks the same as he did in the cell. Tired, frustrated, desperate, and on the verge of tears.

“I know he’s dangerous,” she admits finally, voice soft, so low only Eugene has any chance at hearing her. “But I still just… feel awful inside, watching him.”

Eugene is quiet for a long while, and then he presses a kiss against her forehead. “I get that, Blondie,” Eugene says, and takes her hand, twining their fingers. “I really do. But—Rapunzel, you have to remember that Varian _is_ dangerous. Even in chains. He almost killed your mother!” His voice rises with emotion, urgency in every word. “That night, he almost crushed Cassandra to death, for no reason! Those guards and all the people in the square when he attacked with the beast and kidnapped Queen Arianna… He could have killed them, and that was just the diversion.”

He waits, and when Rapunzel doesn’t reply, heaves a heavy and shaking sigh that rattles in his chest. “Blondie,” he says, soft again, “I get it, but even now—that kid’s bad news, Rapunzel. To you, especially.”

Rapunzel’s eyes close and her mouth twists on a grimace. She turns her face away, cheek pressing against Eugene’s chest. “I know. I know, Eugene.”

He sighs, and his thumb ghosts over her cheek. “Doesn’t help, does it.”

“Not really.”

Eugene goes quiet. “That’s okay, Blondie. Really it is. Don’t worry about it—even if you forget, I’ll be here to remind you.” He gently tilts her face up. Rapunzel lets him, opening her eyes slowly, staring up at him, trying to read—something,  _anything_ in his face. He stares right back, expression earnest and pleading.

“You don’t have to deal with him alone.”

Despite the sick feeling in her gut, Eugene’s words bring a smile to her face, warmth curling in her chest. Rapunzel leans up and kisses him softly, carefully, smiling wide against his lips.

“Thank you, Eugene.”

“Anytime, Rapunzel.”

A bag smacks into them, and Eugene yelps as they pull apart to the sound of Cassandra’s bright laughter. “Oi, lovebirds! Focus! We’re packing here!”

“Right, right! Sorry!”

“We were having a  _moment!_ ” Eugene complains, but waves Rapunzel off with good cheer. “Go, go; I’m almost done.”

“If you’re sure,” Rapunzel says, smiling gently at him, and goes to help Cassandra saddle up Maximus.

By the time the morning starts sliding into noon, they are ready to go—Eugene and Rapunzel on Maximus, and Cassandra on Fidella, with Varian in front of her. The iron ball of his chains is held in his hands, his expression sullen.

“All ready?” Cassandra calls back.

 “Yep!”

“Then let’s get a move on.” She picks up the reins and spurs the horse forward, Maximus only seconds behind. They trot off into the woods until they reach the path of black stone, and follow a few feet to the side of it, heading on into the woods.

Rapunzel twists Maximus’s rein in her hands, Eugene’s arms warm around her waist, and hopes for the best.

-

The sun beats down on Varian’s head.

No matter how he squints or turns, it is persistent and unfaltering in its shine. The heat presses down on him like a wet blanket, his mouth dry and aching, sweat trickling uncomfortably down his brow. The metal restraints on his legs burn like hot coals, rubbing against his sweaty skin, the mild irritation quickly becoming a sharp and tingling pain up and down his limbs. The iron ball he is forced to hold clasped in his hands and between his legs when riding on the horse, but the longer the journey stretches on the more difficult this becomes, the heat and Varian’s own exhaustion making the task worse by the second. On his shoulders, Ruddiger, normally a comforting presence, is both a mixed blessing and a curse—protecting Varian’s neck from the heat, but fur damp and sticky with sweat. Varian is going to smell like wet raccoon for days.

The horse clops on, unbothered by Varian’s growing discomfort. There’s a small jolt down the horse as it clips a rock, and the iron ball nearly slips completely free from Varian’s grasp. He digs aching fingers into the unrelenting metal and grits his teeth against the pain. His head pounds from the long hours in the light. His eyes feel swollen.

“Don’t drop that,” Cassandra says from behind him, her voice cold. “Look, do need me to take it or—”

“I’ve got it,” Varian says, and Cassandra falls quiet again. Her arms cage him in on both sides, her pale hands clenched tight around the reins of the horse. “Just watch where you’re going.”

She sounds irritated. “I know what I’m doing.”

The horse hits another bump in the road, rocking sharply, nearly sending Varian toppling. He bites his lip so hard he can taste blood.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She hisses through her teeth, but doesn’t deign to answer. The next time the horse bucks and the iron ball nearly falls, she doesn’t say a word. Varian glares at the horse until his eyes water. Pain spasms up and down his arms.

Ruddiger croons in his ear, pawing at his cheek. Varian closes his eyes and soaks in the comfort gratefully, taking a deep breath and biting his lip hard to keep from crying out at the next jolt. He won’t let them know he’s in pain, that he’s weak. He _refuses._

This whole journey has been hell from the moment it began. He’d known it would be hard, of course, had accepted that. How could it be anything else, traveling with _them?_ But Varian had been considering the people, when he’d thought about the cons of travel—not the act of traveling itself.

In hindsight, this was a mistake. Varian… Varian has no experience with travel. The longest journey he’s ever made was to the capital city with his dad, and that’s only a six-hour journey on foot and a two-hour ride by horse. He has never traveled long enough to have to set up camp, let alone stayed out in the wilderness. Varian doesn’t even get _outside_ all that often, now that he thinks about it. Sun is not an ideal working condition for alchemy, after all.

For the first time it occurs to him that travel—long, fruitless travel, for hours on end with no destination, sleeping in the woods and eating cold food—is actually pretty miserable.

It is nothing compared to that lonely cell—that had been a hellish experience of an entirely different sort. This does not make it any more bearable, however. Even out here, in the open air, Varian can barely sleep. There are always roots digging into his back or rocks leaving weird molted bruises on his skin. Riding in a saddle for hours on end has given him new aches and pains, burns and blisters. Worse, the farther they get from Corona, the hotter and more hopeless the journey becomes. It is one thing to know that there is no telling how far the rocks will go, and quite another to travel for a straight week and _still_ see no results.

Varian is tired, hungry, in pain, and bitter all at once. With every rocking of the horse, with every spike of pain from his manacled feet and every close call with the iron ball, his mood grows darker and darker, until he is gritting his teeth from more than just pain. By now he knows from experience that they still have hours left until Cassandra calls them to a stop for a camping site, but he doesn’t think he can last those hours, doesn’t _want_ to keep going. He hates the road, this horse, those awful awkward chains they tie around his arms. He hates the food, the bugs, the people he is forced to stay in close quarters with at all hours of the day.

Most of all, he hates that none of the others seem to share in his discomfort.

Behind him, Rapunzel and Eugene are laughing, talking with cheer in their voices, throwing ideas about future destinations back and forth. Cassandra joins in every once in a while, her warm voice echoing in Varian’s ears, her laughter grating on his nerves. They are—they are _enjoying_ this, they enjoy the long rides and harsh sleeping space and cold gruel and burned meat, the relentless sun and awful cold night winds, the never knowing, the endless journey, and for a moment Varian hates them so much, so utterly and completely, that his vision nearly goes white.

He only realizes it is not hatred blurring his vision, but exhaustion, when he falls off the horse.

He only realizes he’s fainted when he wakes up on the ground.

Varian has a lot of experience with fainting. He used to be a lot better about it, before, when Dad was still around. Dad was always telling him _go to sleep, Varian, it’s past midnight,_ or even _have you eaten, Varian,_ and _don’t forget to wear safety gear, Varian, or no experiments for a week._ Dad always made sure Varian took care of himself.

After— _after,_ after Dad was… well, after, it got a whole lot harder. Varian kept forgetting to sleep, or if he’d eaten or not. He has a handful of new scars from forgetting the safety procedures during a new experiment. It used to be Varian would only faint if he’d accidentally hurt himself to the point of bleeding, or on the rare occasions he had a deadline, like the science exposition. Nowadays Varian faints all the time.

He’s lost track of all the times he’s fallen off ladders or woken up at his desk feeling like he’s been run over by a horse-and-cart. One time—the worst time—he woke up dizzy and breathless with pain, his stomach cramping, sour bile in his mouth and throat and all across the wood table, Ruddiger frantically trying to force food in his mouth and his little claws leaving long scratches down Varian’s arm in a desperate attempt to wake him.

After that, Varian had tried harder. Dad… Dad wouldn’t have been proud of that incident. Besides, Ruddiger had been near inconsolable for days, and Varian doesn’t want to put his poor raccoon through that a second time.

Still, he faints… a lot, now, often enough that when he finds himself on the ground, head spinning and vision blurry with a loud cacophony of ever-changing voices in his ears, he is not so much surprised as he is furious. At himself, for fainting; at them, for seeing.

One of the blurs hovering over him condenses into an actual shape: dark hair and dark green eyes, high cheekbones. Cassandra. She is kneeling down beside him, leaning over him and checking his temperature with her palm. Her mouth is drawn into a heavy frown, her other hand warm and steady on his shoulder.

“Varian,” she says. She almost sounds worried, damn her. “What was that?”

His head is still spinning, but Varian manages enough energy to smack her hand off his shoulder. She draws back like he’s burned her, a hand going to her sword. Any concern she might have felt is gone from her face. Varian digs his fingers into the dirt until his knuckles are white.

“It’s nothing,” he says, and tries to right himself. He gets halfway up before his legs crumple and send him sprawling.

Cassandra makes to catch him, her hands reaching out, and all at once Varian is struck with fear. He shoves at her before she can grab him, sending them both off-balance. He hits the ground awkwardly on his side, arm trapped in a painful twist beneath him, dirt on his face. He hears Cassandra yelp, something high and pained, and when he wearily pushes himself up again it’s to see her sitting shock still in surprise, blood trickling from her hairline, red on the rocky ground.

The sight of blood makes him nauseous, but the sight of her makes him laugh. It’s a bitter, ugly sound, and it almost tears itself free, his throat aching. He hates her so much, hates her confidence and her smile and how easily she has turned him into an enemy. It’s only right, some small part of Varian thinks, that she be hurt. Why should Varian be the only one to suffer?

Cassandra’s face twists into a scowl at his laughter, lips curling in a mix of fury and disgust. “What the hell, Varian?” she snaps. “What are you—”

“Not my fault,” Varian gasps back, still smiling that awful smile. His cheeks are pulled back so far they ache, all his teeth bared in a frightening sneer. “You shouldn’t have tried to touch me.” He laughs again, leaning forward to press his forehead against the ground. “But wow! You’re not nearly so strong or tough without your armor, are you, _Cassie_?”

“Varian!” Rapunzel says, sounding angry and hurt in equal measure. The whole camp has stopped now—Rapunzel has already dismounted, striding over to him. Ruddiger is hiding behind Maximus’s legs, ears back and head bowed in a way that makes Varian’s gut twist. Behind them, Eugene grabs the reins of Cassandra’s horse, Pascal on his shoulder. He glances back at Varian, eyes dark, expression unreadable.

Varian spits out dirt at Rapunzel’s feet, forcing her to a stop. He pushes himself off the ground, legs still shaking. This time when he falters, no one reaches to help.

He manages to get his feet under him, manages to stand without tripping on the chains or the iron ball. He meets Rapunzel’s fury with a wide and shaky grin, almost manic. “What?” he says, and keeps his voice soft, poisonously soft, light and airy as if he’s talking about the weather. He’s not paying attention to Rapunzel though, not this time—all of his focus is behind him, on Cassandra. “Am I _wrong?_ I defeated her  _easily_ back in Old Corona, and I surprised her just now, didn’t I? Some warrior of the kingdom she’s turning out to be.”

“Varian,” Rapunzel says, almost helplessly. “Stop this.”

“Stop what?” Varian snaps back, forcing his chin up. The sharp motion makes him sway, but by some miracle he manages to keep his balance. “Stop talking? Stop saying the truth? You and your dad are so _alike,_ aren’t you? Ignoring problems, spreading lies, hoping that well, _maybe_ people will ignore it, it’s for the good of the kingdom…!” He grins hard, teeth grit and smile pushed wide. “But, hey, at least we’re making the people feel good about themselves!”

“ _Stop_ ,” Rapunzel says again, firmly, her eyes flinty. “Varian—”

“It’s okay, Raps.”

Varian stiffens, and Rapunzel turns in surprise. “Cass! But—”

“It’s fine,” Cassandra says again. She’s already on her feet, stance steady and blood wiped away. Her face is resolute, expressionless; not a hint of concern or anger in those eyes. She’s the picture of strength.

Varian’s hands curl into fists, and his jaw clenches against a sudden urge to scream, rage so blinding it makes his head spin.

“It doesn’t matter what he says,” Cassandra continues, heading back towards Fidella. “I’m not listening anyway, so neither should you, Raps.”

It takes Varian a moment to realize what’s going on, what’s happening here. Cassandra—Cassandra is _ignoring_ him _._ She isn’t even talking to him, just talking over him, acting like Varian isn’t even there. She is—

She is not listening.

Something about that—that, that _act,_ of not listening, of not hearing—it strikes at him in a way that is different from every time before. He is, inexplicably, hurt. And then he is angry, he is so, so _angry_ , that for a moment he can’t even breathe.

Then he gets his breath back, and with it, his voice. “Oh, yes,” Varian says, so furious he can barely talk, voice tight with fury. He holds himself together with his fingertips, chin jutted out and shoulders forced back in challenge. “Let’s talk about that, _Cassie._ Not listening. You never listen, do you?”

Cassandra ignores him, and Varian hisses through clenched teeth, shaking head to toe. “You don’t listen to anyone,” he spits at her, and when that doesn’t work he grows desperate, reaching— “Not me, not the King…”

Finally,  _finally_ —she goes still. “What was that?” Her voice is quiet. Soft. Dangerous.

Varian doesn’t care. “You told me yourself!” he enthuses, bright and cheerful and poison to the core. She has stopped, she is hearing him, but it is all too little too late and suddenly Varian wants to _hurt_ her, hurt her as much as she hurt him. “It was you who brought the Princess to those rocks, wasn’t it? You who snuck her out, against orders…”

“Varian, stop—”

“Maybe you should start listening, _Cassie,_ ” Varian says, words trembling with barely suppressed rage, “or you might end up causing _another_ catastrophe to befall your precious kingdom, like the failure of a guard you are—!”

Rapunzel grabs his arm, yanking him back. Her fingers are like iron, solid as the shackles on his ankles. “Varian, I told you to stop!”

“Don’t _touch me!”_ he shrieks back, and wrenches free from her grasp, nearly tripping over his chains in the process.

Rapunzel’s face is flushed, her expression twisted in anger and bewildered hurt. “Why are you saying those things?” she demands, striding forward. “You know they aren’t true! Cass—”

A sharp neigh cuts her off, and she startles, turning on her heels. Varian snaps his head to the side just in time to see Cassandra’s horse paw at the air, and then take off into the woods, Cassandra on its back. Cassandra’s face is tight with anger, but Varian almost thinks he can see tears in her eyes, and it makes him laugh again, higher, frantic, cackling at her back as she flees.

“Cass!” Rapunzel cries out, running forward, but she is no match for the horse’s speed and stops when they are out of sight, hand outstretched, expression pained. Then she whirls on Varian, face red and eyes watery, her mouth pulled back in a snarl. “Why did you _do_ that!?”

Varian can barely breathe past his laughter— helpless, hysterical, almost on the verge of tears—and he collapses to the ground, pressing his forehead to his knees to hide his face. Suddenly Cassandra’s hurt doesn’t seem so funny, or maybe it was never funny, because he is almost crying, now, but he won’t let them see that. He can’t tell what it is he’s feeling, whether he is hurt or angry, vindictively satisfied or damnably guilty.

“ _Varian!”_

A hand grasps the back of his shirt and yanks him to his feet—Varian gasps, startled from his fit, scrambling to find his footing. For a moment he thinks it is Rapunzel, but no—she is still there a few paces in front of him, expression as startled as Varian feels, her wide green eyes peering behind him.

Varian cranes his neck back, and Flynn Rider—Eugene Fitzherbert, a liar like all the rest—stares back, expression set, eyes narrow under his brows.

“Don’t worry, Blondie,” Eugene says casually, his voice strained and grip tight. “I’ve got this. Go find Cass, yeah?” He shakes Varian’s collar and holds fast when Varian nearly crumples again. “This kid and I—we need to have a talk.” He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Eugene,” Rapunzel says, and then stops. After a moment of silence, she takes a deep breath. “Okay. I— okay.” She hesitates, and then Varian can hear her running, mounting Maximus and following after Cassandra. He doesn’t look to see her go—he is too focused on Eugene, too busy trying to twist out of his hold.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Eugene says, and shakes him lightly again, before quite literally dragging Varian behind him by the scruff of his neck into the woods. “None of that kid. We really do need to talk. I know you don’t want to, but I’m asking you to give it your best shot.”

“Let go of me!”

“No can do, my friend. This is _long_ overdue.” He glances back over his shoulder, eyebrows going up in surprise, and then he grins again, softer. “Ah, Ruddiger! Little buddy! It’s alright. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Varian cranes his neck around, ignoring the painful tug at his shoulders. “Ruddiger!”

Ruddiger is still sitting in the dirt, small face crinkled in worry, chittering in a constant stream, low and fearful. Varian stops a moment before he calls out, struck with uncertainty. Ruddiger will come with him, if Varian calls. But Ruddiger is… afraid.

He doesn’t know whether his raccoon is afraid of Eugene or him, and he is suddenly terrified of finding out.

“S-stay here, Ruddiger,” Varian says finally, stuttering only a little on the words, and draws himself up to glare at Eugene. He is not wrong, he is not afraid, and there is nothing they can do—or have the guts to do—to hurt him. “It’s just a talk.”

Ruddiger whines low in his throat but backs away, wide eyes darting between them. Eugene just smiles, crooked and sly and a little sad. His eyes are cold, impersonal, disappointed. As if he has seen Varian and found him wanting.

“Yes, a talk,” Eugene agrees. “That  _is_ what Team Awesome does, isn’t it?”

-

In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea to drag the kid away from the main path to have this chat, but alas Eugene only thinks of this when he is too far away to justify walking back. Truthfully all he’d wanted was to give Rapunzel and Cassandra some more space—this conversation will be hard enough without the fear they might come back in the middle of it and have everything blow up all over again. Plus, that raccoon had been looking pretty freaked. What is it about all these animals companions, anyway?

In his hold, Varian is limp and sullen, but walking. He no longer tries to twist out of Eugene’s grip, though earlier he did make a passable attempt at clawing at Eugene’s fingers and hissing like an angry cat. He’s not fighting anymore, thank the Sun, though he looks as angry as always, a dark scowl on his young face and eyes tight and narrow, something like a sneer curling at his lip.

Eugene… Eugene should have seen this coming. He’s noticed Varian’s nasty attitude, noticed how the travel and long exposure to them seems to have worsened his mood, rather than mended bridges. Noticed, especially, that where Varian feels free to snap at Rapunzel, he is different with Cassandra. Quieter, for one, but also— more poisonous. Bottling his hate. It was bound to come out eventually, but Eugene had hoped his attempts at interference would be enough to ward it off. Apparently not so.

He should have ridden the horse with Varian, he knows. Cassandra’s never complained about it, but none of them want to—it’s hard to travel next to someone who hates your guts, especially someone as dangerous as Varian. Eugene has ridden with Rapunzel and pretended distracting Varian was enough, but… that was stupid of him, he thinks now. He should have done better.

Well, it’s too late for that. Varian’s spat his poison and Cassandra has run off before she gives into the urge to skewer the little brat, not that he can blame her. All Eugene can do now is pick at the pieces and hope he doesn’t make things worse.

When he finally judges them far enough away, he shakes Varian one last time in warning before steering the kid to sit on the log. The kid resists. Eugene is not impressed, and makes him sit anyway, hands heavy on the boy’s shoulders.

“Varian,” he says shortly. “Let’s talk.”

Varian glowers up at him. “What is this?” he demands, pulling away from Eugene like he smells something awful. “Your idea of an intervention?” He says it like it’s a joke, mean and spiteful.

Eugene grins at him with all his teeth. “Something like that, yes!”

Uncertainty flashes across Varian’s face, but only for a moment, and then his shoulders firm. This time he doesn’t say anything—just glowers, eyes bright with hostility and helpless anger.

This right here, this is why Eugene has to be the one to do this, no matter how frustrating he finds it, no matter how much he doesn’t want to. Because Varian—Varian doesn’t listen to anybody, Rapunzel and Cassandra least of all. He hates them too much for that, there’s too much— _history,_ or hurt feelings, for them to have a civil conversation. But with Eugene… well. It’s not personal.

Varian has hurt those Eugene loves, but he was never enough of a friend for Eugene to really consider it a betrayal. And Eugene—Eugene has never let Varian down, or attacked him. His role has always been on the sidelines. No matter how much Varian might wish to make it personal, he can’t here. There is no history, no friendship, for him to use as a weapon.

It means that Eugene has an edge, a shield against Varian that Cassandra and Rapunzel do not. It means that Varian can’t fight Eugene the way he fights them, all biting comments and awful twisted truths. No alchemy, no personal hurt—against Eugene, Varian’s main weapons are blunted. He can’t bite back, and that means he has to listen.

God, does Eugene hope the kid is listening.

“To start,” Eugene says brightly. “Let’s go with, oh, I don’t know, maybe— What the hell is your problem, kid?”

Varian shies away from him at the sudden shift in tone, muscles tensing, looking abruptly out of his depth. “What?”

“What the hell is your problem?” Eugene repeats, impatient. “Because honestly, kid, you’ve been nothing but poison since day one! And man, I thought it’d get better, I really did, but you’re only getting worse. So.”

The uncertainty fades from Varian’s face. “Are you kidding me?” he snaps, bristling like an angry cat. “Are you _joking_? How many times do I have to— none of you, none of you ever listen! I. Don’t. Like. You. I hate you!”

It takes real effort to wrestle back an automatic quip at this answer— “What, hate  _this_ handsome face? —but by some miracle, Eugene manages. This is no laughing matter, after all. If he doesn’t take this seriously, Varian won’t either.

“Huh,” Eugene says instead, and smiles, rocking back on his heels. “Why?”

“ _What?”_

“I asked why, Varian.”

“If this is some sort of game to you—”

“Oh, no,” Eugene interrupts, waving off the accusation, his voice even and cool. “I’m being _quite_ serious. Go on, Varian. Tell me why you hate us.”

For a moment, Varian struggles in silence, breathing sharp and short, jaw clenched and face twisted. Finally he bursts out, “You _lied_ to me! You broke your promises, you turned your back on me! You attacked me, accused me—”

“First off,” Eugene says, “I never promised you anything, so I don’t know why you’re pinning that on _me_ —you never asked me for anything, so technically I’ve never had the chance to, ah, ‘turn my back on you.’”

Varian gives him a nasty look. “The vault.”

Eugene risks letting Varian go to cross his arms, aiming his best look of bland disappointment at him. Not as well-crafted as his smolder, but still pretty damn artful, in Eugene’s opinion. “Kid, you drugged half the goddamn castle and were in the process of committing very, _very_ high treason! What was that supposed to be, heroic?”

Varian’s face purples, and he opens his mouth again, looking incensed, but Eugene holds up a hand before he can speak. “But enough about me,” he continues. “Let’s go more specific, yes? What did Cass do to you, Varian?”

He looks startled again, so surprised he forgets to be angry. “What?”

“Well, she must have done something, because otherwise you make no sense.”

“ _What?”_

“Let’s see,” Eugene continues, counting off his fingers; his smile is gone now, not a trace of it left on his face or in his eyes. “Your beast nearly cut down her father, you did your level best to crush her to death back in Old Corona… and this whole time we’ve been traveling, you’ve been nothing but _cruel_ to her.”

His three fingers raise up in the air, accusing, before Eugene lets his hand fall back to his side. “So, I’ll say it again, Varian—what did Cass do to deserve that? I get you’re angry at Rapunzel—” and Eugene’s own feelings on that matter aren’t important, not now, but he can’t help the anger in his voice at the reminder of what Varian has done to Rapunzel, but that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms and _keep things one at a time, Eugene._ “—But Cass?”

Varian’s face goes dark, chin tilting up and shoulders stiffening. He’s shaking, held so taut he looks like one push might break him, hands curled into fists so tight Eugene wouldn’t be surprised if he drew blood. “Shut up,” he snaps. “What do you know? You—she— _Everyone_ betrayed me! She said she was my friend, but she sure never _acted_ like one!”

“Oh-ho-ho, really? Okay, Varian, tell me—when did Cass betray you? When did I, for that matter? Because the only time we’ve ever treated you like an enemy, Varian, you were already acting like one.”

Varian bares his teeth, for a moment looking absolutely feral. “The science exposition.”

“Oh, for the love of—she’s apologized for that! You’ve _forgiven_ her for that! Holy hell, kid, she did all she could to make it up to you afterword, and trust you me, she’s learned her lesson about that.”

Varian is trembling. He looks—uncertain, maybe, or rattled. Like he isn’t so certain anymore, and growing all the more desperate because of it. “I’m _not wrong.”_

“Fine,” Eugene snaps back, patience waning. “She’s hurt you, chose ambition over being your assistant, fine, fine, fine. You tried to _kill_ her, Varian. You legitimately tried to crush every bone in her body, that was a thing that happened.”

“She  _attacked me!”_

“You kidnapped the Queen of Corona! You stole the Sundrop Flower! I know it’s hard to get it through your remarkably thick head, kid, but you’ve committed high treason, kidnapping, and attempted murder! She’s a goddamn guard! Of course she tried to attack you!  _We all tried to attack you!_ You were going to kill people!”

“Only those that deserved it! I was trying to free my Dad! Don’t you dare—”

“No, don’t _you_ dare! Kid, you set a monster on the town square. Do you remember that? I remember that. There were people there! Innocent people. Guards, citizens, people who had absolutely nothing to do with your problems. You almost killed them. Without Rapunzel’s quick thinking, someone would’ve died.”

Varian goes a furious red, but says nothing. For the first time, it is as if he has nothing to say.

“I don’t care,” Eugene tells him honestly. “I don’t care whose fault you think it is or who you hate or why, Varian, but I am begging you—no, I am _warning_ you— leave Cass out of it.”

“She’s—”

“She’s done nothing to you.”

“F- _Fuck_ you!”

“Go on, cuss all you want. She’s done nothing. Maybe that’s enough to make her guilty to you, but remember—what you’ve done to her is a helluva lot worse than anything she could have done to you.” Eugene leans in, eyes narrow, dragging the kid closer by his shirt so he can’t look away.  “Leave Cass alone,” Eugene repeats. “She’s done nothing to you. Whatever grudge match you have with Blondie, don’t drag her into it just because your feelings are hurt. Capiche?”

Varian doesn’t say anything. His eyes are wide, his pupils pinpricks. All the color has drained from his face. He looks dizzy, confused, angry. Always anger, with Varian.

Eugene waits, then beams as if Varian has responded, pushing the boy until he’s sitting on the log again. “Wonderful! Talk done. See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He claps Varian on the shoulder, making it a little harder than normal. Varian flinches. He looks furious. He looks afraid. He looks like a kid.

Eugene feels guilty, almost, but not enough to take the words back. Varian is a kid, yes—but he’s a kid who has proven himself capable of murder, and Eugene won’t ever let himself forget that.

“Let’s get back to camp, yeah?”

Varian doesn’t say anything. The whole way back, he walks silently behind Eugene, iron ball held in white-knuckled hands, eyes fixed on the ground in a frustrated glare. When they reach the road—Rapunzel and Cassandra already returned and the horses ready to go—he still says nothing, just climbs awkwardly into the saddle. Cassandra doesn’t offer him any help. He manages anyway. When Ruddiger runs up to him, he barely seems to notice.

They ride on, and the whole rest of the day, Varian is sullen and quiet, eyes dark and lost in thought. He never offers Cassandra an apology—but he doesn’t attack her again, either.

Even that little, Eugene thinks, is a victory. Maybe the kid was listening after all.

If nothing else, he can hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Varian, but…. He is, admittedly, a bit of an asshole. Trying to crush Cass and the Queen?? Asshole move. Like, he has legitimate reasons to be mad at Rapunzel, but Cass???? Last time you two talked you had a heartfelt bonding moment; why are you jumping to murder.
> 
> I struggled a bit with how Varian would react here, but ultimately, I felt this clash had to happen. Speaking from my own experience—traveling in close quarters with other people for long stretches of time can be maddening, no matter how much you love them, and it’s even worse when the travel itself is full of sleepless nights and exhausting hours-long treks. I can only imagine how much worse that feeling would be, traveling with people you hate…. Plus, Varian’s on thin ice right now. He’s desperate, and uncertain, and he knows that if the rocks don’t create a solution to his amber problem, he’s screwed. He’s panicking, and taking it out on those closest—which, unfortunately, happens to be our protagonists.
> 
> I had similar troubles with Eugene. We’ve seen from his interactions with Angry and Red that Eugene is sympathetic, kind, and knows people are capable of redemption. However, Angry and Red stole because they felt they had no other choice, and they didn’t try to kill people Eugene loved. Varian did, and he is not at all sorry about it. So Eugene is, pretty much, the shield. He would like for the kid to be good again, but he’s not holding his breath, and he’ll shield Cass and Raps from as much of Varian’s anger as he can. He is the shield. The shield who is done taking Varian’s misplaced anger. 
> 
> That said, Varian has some points on his side too. Especially when it comes to Rapunzel. He’ll get his chance to defend his view too, don’t worry. The whole situation is delightfully messy, and I plan on dealing with every tangle I can. No one is entirely in the wrong... and no one is really totally right, either. So much fun!
> 
> [Reblog to Rec?](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


	3. The Sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this whole dang thing fueled on spite and competitiveness. And thank god I did, because this chapter did not want to be written. Who knew words could be so stubborn???
> 
>  **Warnings** for: some cursing (not as strong as the last chapter, but still present), some violence (a bit more intense than canon, but not gory), and conscious infliction of pain (very mild, and very brief, but I thought I’d mention that.) As always, if there is something you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!
> 
> Also, a special mention to soofireanon and sakura-petal91 — thank you so much for your support and your absolutely stunning art for this fic!!! [Soofireanon](http://soofireanon.tumblr.com) drew some downright marvelous pieces, including [the fight scene](http://soofireanon.tumblr.com/post/174732086629/since-im-totally-in-love-with-izaswritingss), [Varian being sassy and evil-ish](http://soofireanon.tumblr.com/post/174803958614/another-day-another-fanart-for-izadreamers), [Rapunzel and Eugene being Cool Adults](http://soofireanon.tumblr.com/post/174770032799/oh-you-thought-i-was-done-drawing-for), and [Varian hugging Ruddiger!!](http://soofireanon.tumblr.com/post/174768260939/more-fanart-for-izadreamers-fic-labyrinths-of) (Plus, a FANTASTIC sketch of [Varian’s design/appearance](http://soofireanon.tumblr.com/post/174987514259/izadreamer-hey-so-ive-been-out-all-day-cus-its) in this fic, if you all don’t mind some spoilers on how he will eventually look!!) [Sakura-petal91](http://sakura-petal91.tumblr.com) also drew an _amazing_ [furious varian.](http://sakura-petal91.tumblr.com/post/174711268062/izaswritings-this-is-your-fics-fault-smh-check) Just, so many beautiful pieces!! Thank you both so much!!
> 
> And to all my other reviewers, viewers, kudos-ers, and just, all my readers— thank you so much for all your support and love for this story. It means the world to me.
> 
> Without further ado— Chapter III: The Sword, commence!

 

_Rapunzel is standing at a crossroads._

_The world is lost in the same gray fog as before, with only the dark silhouettes of looming trees to serve as a locator. It is the pale brightness of early morning, the world dimmed but still visible, everything awash in otherworldly blue. Beneath her feet the road is the same cold dark stone, turned polar white where her bare toes touch—only this time, the path does not stretch forward, but out._

_Split evenly down the middle, the road trails in two opposing directions. To her left, the path stretches on into the gloom, winding like a snake to an unknown destination. The path to her right is its mirror down to every twist and turn, its equal and its reflection, every bit as sinister and foreboding as its counterpart._

_She stands tall on the path, feet braced and shoulders back, her face lifted to the obscured sky in a silent challenge. She stares out into the unknown with all the regal bearing of a queen. The path of black stone, the fog, and those awful icy colors—they have led her here, led her to a choice. Before her the fog, turned soft and blue in the morning glow, ripples like the surface of a lake. When she raises her hand to it, wondering if perhaps there is another path she simply cannot see, it presses against her palm as strong and as solid as a brick wall._

_Rapunzel stands on a crossroads, still and silent, unsure of where to go or what path to trust._

_“Did you really think it would be that easy?”_

_For some reason she is not surprised to hear him, to know that he is there. For some reason it makes perfect sense, that he would stand at this crossroads with her. She pulls away from the unyielding wall of fog and turns to look behind her._

_“Varian.”_

_Varian looks up at her. He is sitting cross-legged on the dark path, the black of his shackles near-indistinguishable from the black of the stone. He is fiddling with a section of her hair, pulling out the tangles in the long golden strands, draping them over his knee to braid._

_She turns to him, faces him, settles down before him. Face-to-face, mirrors of each other—equals like the paths that stretch on behind her._

_Varian watches her sit with a blank expression, then hums and turns his eyes back to the braid. His fingers are bare, long and thin like a musician’s, uncharacteristically careful as he combs his nails through the strands. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”_

_Rapunzel looks down at the path. Her fingers brush the stone, and blue flares like a flower, wisping out like one of her watercolor paints. They both stop, pausing for only a moment to watch the colors fade, and then she says, “I don’t know. Maybe.”_

_Varian smiles. His expression is unreadable, unknown to her, as mysterious as the path she follows. “Of course you did.”_

_She looks up at him, watches his face. “I’m getting close, aren’t I? To the end.”_

_“Close,” Varian echoes. His eyes trail away from her, drop back to the braid. He looks at it for a long moment and makes another knot into the chain. “You could say that.”_

_She frowns, and looks behind her, back to the crossroads, the split path. “Not the end, then,” she guesses. Her eyes glance back, search his impassive face. “A choice?”_

_His shoulders lift in a shrug, his chains clinking at the movement. “Both. Neither. Or maybe it’s me who has to make a choice. Maybe we’re all making choices.” His head rises, and he gives her another smile, soft and full of old bitterness. “Did you really think finding answers would be easy, Rapunzel? As easy as asking a question…” He reaches out, taps his fingers against the black rocks. “…Or merely following a path?”_

_She has nothing to say in reply to this, just watches him braid her hair. Her thoughts twist and tangle like a hurricane in her head. “Varian,” she says finally. “Which way should I go?”_

_He laughs at that. “How should I know?”_

_“Both are wrong,” Rapunzel admits, her voice soft and breaking, torn with indecision. “They aren’t… they aren’t right. I don’t know which way to go.”_

_Varian shakes his head. “Why are you asking me?” he tells her, and lifts one hand to point out into the gloom. The shackles on his skinny wrist dangle like a noose. “No matter which way you go, it’ll always be your choice.”_

_“It has to be me,” Rapunzel echoes softly, and Varian smiles one final time, soft and genuine and sad._

_“Ah,” he says. “Now you’re getting it.”_

-

Cassandra wakes up to a dark world.

At first, she isn’t sure what, exactly, has roused her—she is usually the first one up in their camp, no matter what watch she takes, but it is rare that she wakes this early. The sky is still dark, not a hint of sunrise to be seen, and the air is blessedly cool against her sunburned skin, a thin fog drifting through the shadowed silhouettes of the trees. It’s chilly and dewy, the sort of cold wet only very early morning can create, and Cassandra pulls her up her blankets, frowning out at the fog.

A sharp hoot breaks through the silence, and Cassandra turns, lifting one hand in an automatic motion. With a soft beat of his wings, Owl flutters down to her, talons digging into Cassandra’s bare arm. He croons at her, chittering softly, tapping his long talons against her skin in a specific rhythm.

Cassandra grimaces, displeased by the news, and breathes in deeply through her nose. After a moment, she lifts one hand and trails her finger down Owl’s head, a careful show of affection. “You sure?”

Owl croons again, then jumps off her arm into the sky, vanishing back into the shadow of the trees. Cassandra watches him go, and sighs, one hand rising to rub at her face, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“All good?”

His voice low and careful, but it still startles her. She tilts her head to the side, squinting through the darkness to see the shadowed form of Eugene, sitting up by the ashes of their fire. She cannot see him all that well, not at this time of day, but she can make out the faint outline of his shoulders against the tree trunk, a flickering motion that might be the wave of his hand.

 _That’s right,_ Cassandra remembers suddenly. It is his turn for watch.

“There’s a storm coming,” she replies, voice just as soft. There’s no need to wake up Rapunzel, after all. She squints into the darkness, trying to get a read on him. “And a town, nearby.”

She thinks Eugene might be smiling, but it is hard to tell. Typical of him. It is usually Eugene and Rapunzel who head to the towns, a makeshift date of sorts for the two of them; he _would_ like the sound of another one. “Soon?”

Cassandra considers this. “The storm? Maybe tomorrow night. Within the next two days, certainly.” She frowns at the reminder, scowling into the dark. “The town… today.”

He sounds excited. He won’t be, when she tells him the rest. “We’re close?”

She sighs into the dark, looking to where Varian should be, now only a shadowed lump in this morning gloom. “…No. And yes. The rocks go straight through the city.”

There’s a long silence, and then Eugene whistles lowly. She can’t be sure, but she thinks he’s looking the same way as her. “…Damn.”

She sighs again, unsure if she is tired or simply annoyed. “We’ll deal with it.”

There’s the sound of a grimace in his voice, grudging and reluctant. “Yeah.” Eugene’s sigh is just as soft as hers, but longer, drawing out into a low whistle. She can’t see well in the dark, but she can almost catch the white gleam of his teeth as he grins, mood slipping back into flippancy. “Maybe I’ll give ‘im another lecture, get him off your back?”

Her anxieties fall away, her irritation returning. Cassandra rolls her eyes at a sky she cannot see and scoffs at him, glaring out in his direction at the reminder. “Oh, shove off.”

Laughter, warm as sunlight, threads through his words, his voice nearly sing-song. “You still haven’t thanked me for that, you know.”

Cassandra narrows her eyes to slits, smirking into the dark. Strangely enough, some part of her is fighting the urge to laugh. “I don’t need _you_ to fight my battles. Which of us is actually skilled with a sword, again? Besides,” she adds, humor fading at the memory, “I was trying not to skewer him, not running from him.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Eugene says, and there is something odd in his voice, something warm and fond, something unlike the usual teasing tone she usually gets from him. “But hey, I have better luck getting a compliment from you than I do him! Don’t think he’ll thank me for that.”

“He should, I was very close.”

“I know. You had the murder-look in your eye—you know, the constipated-face one?”

She scowls out in his direction and his laughter floats soft and wispy in the air between them. Her ire breaks, and she rolls her eyes back up to the heavens. “It’s too early for your nonsense,” she decides, raising her voice just slightly over his echoing laughter. “I’m going back to sleep. Good _night_.”

“You know I’m right,” Eugene sings, and Cassandra grumps wordlessly at him, plopping back down on her blankets and yanking them over her shoulder. She drapes an arm over her head and rests against her pillow, and closes her eyes to the sound of his snickering echoing in her ears.

When she opens her eyes again, it feels like no time at all has passed, but the bright morning light shines incessantly on her face. Head pounding, Cassandra squints into the sudden glare, rubbing at a crick in her neck and sitting up with a yawn. Rapunzel is a still and snoring lump beneath her covers, Pascal hiding underneath her hand. Maximus blows out soft breaths beside her, ever the watchful guardian even in sleep. And Eugene—

Eugene is passed out against the tree.

Cassandra stares at him, more bemused than irritated, biting back the urge to laugh. Some guard _he_ is, she thinks to herself. Why, if Varian had decided to—

Her breath catches, thoughts stuttering to a halt as every hair on the back of her neck rises. She feels abruptly cold in a way that has nothing to do with the morning chill.

_Varian!_

Her heart pounding, she flies up on her feet and whirls on her heels, searching for him amongst the trees. Damn Eugene! What was she thinking, laughing at his carelessness? Time that no one was watching, time that Varian could have used to escape, or hurt Rapunzel, or—

Cassandra stills, her frantic thoughts halting in their tracks. Varian…Varian is still here.

Cassandra draws herself up to her full height, wishing for the comfort of her sword, sharp eyes darting up and down Varian’s small frame. He is stuck in the grips of sleep, curled up in a small ball between two wide tree roots, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Ruddiger by his neck. The iron shackles stand out starkly against his pale wrists. His chains are still tied to the tree, untampered and whole, exactly as she left them. He hasn’t moved even an inch.

Her breath releases in a heavy sigh, her shoulders sinking, her hands trembling by her side. Cassandra rubs at her face with one hand, palm digging into the hollow of her sore eyes. She has just woken up, but she feels suddenly very tired, drained and fatigued like she’s pulled an all-nighter, exhaustion tugging at her mind. She sits down hard on her bed-roll, relief making her knees weak.

Maybe it’s unfair to Varian, to treat him this way—maybe, but not really. Cassandra… she knows, in truth, that she is not objective; that Varian is a sore subject for her, that her own hurt feelings are clouding her judgment. But she is not wrong about this. Varian is dangerous, not just because of his short temper and biting words, but also for what he could do—and what he is willing to do. Only a boy, but he is a boy without limitations, and that is the most frightening thing of all.

There are no lengths he wouldn’t go to achieve his goal. If nothing else, his actions in Old Corona proved that much.

Admittedly, he is better now, at least compared to how he was at the start of their journey. It’s nearly been two weeks now since they left Corona, one week since that… _incident_ , and ever since that, he’s been quiet. Still biting, still sullen, but… better. Restrained. She can almost forget he’s there, which is both a blessing and a security risk. Cassandra can never have _nice_ things, apparently.

Of course, today’s events may put an end to his good behavior. She doesn’t trust his silence to hold in the face of a city overrun by the black rocks.

Cassandra cannot help but wish he wasn’t here. She wishes Rapunzel had just left him in that cell. She knows it’s an awful thought, but Varian is like a plague, tainting everything he touches. Their journey could have been pleasant, if not for him. Cassandra is forever aware of the threat he poses, of the hatred he holds for Rapunzel—a hatred he makes no secret of. Every spiteful comment, every baleful glare, every vaguely threatening motion… Cassandra sees it all, notes it, holds herself back from retaliating. He is constantly toeing the line. His anger, his hatred— he is so vocal in it, it exhausts her. Cassandra wants him gone. She wants to _rest._

Bad enough that Varian betrayed them, tried to hurt Rapunzel, tried to kill her. Now they have to deal with him every waking hour of the day, as well?

Whatever. Cassandra knows why Rapunzel did this. She may not like it, but she understands—can even, on the nights when she is alone and untroubled, admit it is perhaps the only _right_ thing to do, the only thing fair to Varian. It is only her heart that doesn’t understand—that sense of being betrayed, that childish anger and spite. Only this part of her that wishes so vehemently that Varian would just leave.

Cassandra shuts her eyes with a grimace, shaking her head. She is being childish, _mopey,_ even; and Cassandra has never done mopey. Varian is here to stay, vicious personality and all, and Cassandra will just have to suck it up and deal with it.

She’s lucky, all things considered—Varian rarely talks to Cassandra unless she engages first, but he’s as cold towards Rapunzel as he always is, and Rapunzel is the one who actually _wants_ to help him. At least Cassandra can ignore his existence without fear of being on the end of one of his outbursts. Small mercies. She’ll have to thank Eugene for that, even if she didn’t really need it and the thought of thanking Eugene for anything makes her want to gag. Still, she can stomach it.

Cassandra rolls up onto her feet and brushes the dirt off her tunic. The sky is still rather dark, but it’s lightening, turning to the paler blue of sunrise as light creeps out over the hills. The sun is rising, the horses need to be woken and fed, a fire to start and breakfast to prep—the day is fast approaching. There is no more time to waste.

Cassandra pushes her worries aside for another night, and goes to start the fire.

-

They reach the town by noon.

The whole way there, Cassandra keeps a sharp eye on Varian. Ever since the _incident_ from a few days back, he has been riding on Maximus with Eugene, while Cassandra and Rapunzel ride together on Fidella. Cassandra isn’t sure whether to be irritated or pleased about it. On one hand, the ride is far more pleasant talking with Rapunzel. On the other, she despises the fact this change was necessary.

The bright side is that the new angle gives her a better look at Varian’s expression. Riding ahead of him means she only has to glance back to tell what he is thinking. She can quite literally see the moment he recognizes a town in the distance, and then the slow realization when he understands where the stone path is heading.

Cassandra watches him, but other than grit teeth and tense muscles, Varian does not react. Yet, neither does he look away—his baleful glare remains fixed on the path and those black rocks the whole time. His eyes track the stone where it breaks through the far-off guard wall, catch and linger on the sporadic spikes skewering the city ahead.

Cassandra grimaces and turns away, fixing her eyes back on the road. She’ll deal with Varian if she has to, but she’s _really_ hoping she doesn’t have to.

The closer they get to the town, the quieter their talk becomes, until the whole group falls into a tense silence a few miles out from the gates. No one mentions buying food—for today at least, hunting would probably be the better option. None of them want to stay a minute longer in this city than they have to. They are all hyper-aware of Varian’s intense stare, of his taut shoulders and shaking hands, can almost hear the grinding of his teeth as they draw closer and closer.

About a mile out from the gate, Rapunzel draws up her cloak hood, and Eugene throws Varian a blanket, who scowls but grudgingly lets it cover his legs despite the midday heat, hiding his chains, the iron ball, and his foot cuffs from view. For a moment Cassandra thinks this, here, is where he will break—almost hopes for it, for they are at least far away enough to not be overheard—but Varian breathes in deep and holds it, and not a sound slips past his lips.

As they draw up to the city, a guard walks up to them, wielding a short sword and wearing dull iron armor inscribed with the crest of this country’s king. The stone path has cut straight through the city’s border wall, a makeshift door into the city with no locks or gates, only the guards to defend this unexpected breach in their defenses. Wickedly sharp spikes poke out from between the bricks, violent and obtrusive, likely due to previous attempts to build over the stone path. The black rocks, Cassandra knows, don’t appreciate being hidden.

She chances a glance back. Varian’s head is bowed, his blue eyes cold as they stare up through his fringe. He looks at the broken walls and overrun town like a prisoner would at a guillotine.

“Travelers,” says the guard, looking wary. As he probably should, seeing a bunch of weird, hooded people riding along an unofficial path that decimated their village. “What brings you here?”

“Adventure,” Eugene says brightly, taking the attention upon himself. His smile is wide and gleaming, and perhaps a little desperate, too. “We four here are exploring this black stone path, seeing where it goes for the sake of… science! Yes, science.”

The man looks suspicious, but his weapon is lowering. “All of you?” he repeats, eyeing their group. How odd they must appear to him, Cassandra realizes abruptly. A hooded teenager, an armed woman with a sword, a rogue-ish looking man, and… a fourteen-year-old boy looking like he’s stared death in the face. Plus a raccoon, chameleon, and an owl. No wonder he looks so skeptical.

Sure enough, the guard points one suspicious finger at Varian, who leans back as if he thinks the man might stab him, eyes snapping to the guard like a flash of brilliant blue lightning—all danger, all threat, ready to strike without warning. “This one’s an explorer? What, he your kid or something?”

Varian’s eyes go wide, reeling away as if the guard has slapped him, lips drawing back in a frightful snarl. “He’s  _not_ my  _d—”_

Before he can finish, Eugene reaches out and claps a hand over Varian’s mouth, pinning him back against his chest to keep Varian from lunging forward. Varian freezes, looking momentarily stunned.

In the abrupt silence, Eugene laughs loudly, almost too loudly, nerves pitching his voice unnaturally high. “No, no! Good sir, I am far too young for that. No, this is… my little brother, Vari… tas.” His voice is strained. Sweat trickles down his brow.

The words must jolt Varian out of his daze, because he starts to twist in Eugene’s hold, looking furious, his protests muffled but the raw emotion in them still showing through. He almost looks like he might start biting, which would be hilarious if Varian himself didn’t appear so frightening.

The guard, reasonably, does not look convinced. Cassandra sighs and slings herself off the horse, trusting Eugene to handle Varian for now. Time to do damage control.

“We’re travelers,” she says shortly. “We’re from the Kingdom of Corona.” She rifles through one of the saddlebags and holds out a stamped piece of paper triumphantly to the guard. “I have the official documentation right here.”

The guard scans the papers, frowning slightly, but some of the threat in his stance has eased. “…It checks out,” he says finally, reluctantly. “But why you four? Wouldn’t the King of Corona send people more….” He waves his hand vaguely upward, and Rapunzel, bless her, pipes in.

“Taller?”

Eugene sucks in a little breath, a sure sign he is about to start talking again, but Cassandra cuts him off with a smile. “Corona is going through some hard times lately,” she says. “We were recently attacked by a dangerous criminal, an alchemist named Varian.” Her eyes dart back, cold and unfaltering, to the frozen form of Varian. “Isn’t that right, Varitas?”

Eugene and Varian both stare at her, before Eugene starts and warily draws back his hand, releasing Varian with extreme reluctance. Varian does not move. He stares down at Cassandra, his face pale, lips pressed into a thin line. In the midday sun he looks washed-out and near colorless, his freckles like flecks of black ink against his skin. The bags under his eyes are as dark as bruises.

Eugene glances between them, gritting his teeth slightly. The look he gives Cassandra is all irritation, eyes lidded with disappointment. He nudges Varian carefully with his elbow.

“Right,” Varian says, very quietly. His eyes burn like hot coals on her back.

Cassandra ignores him, turning back to the guard with a confident smile. Strange though their group may be, the official papers and somewhat official story will work in their favor. Cassandra has got the situation under control. “We’re recovering, of course,” she continues, as if the terse exchange hasn’t happened, “but the king didn’t want to waste any real firepower. So, here we are. Can you let us through?”

The guard scans them over, then finally relaxes with a sigh. “I suppose,” he says grudgingly. He waves his hand up to the wall. “Just be aware that if you cause any trouble, even the seal of a king can’t help you here.” His dark eyes are old, knowing. “This isn’t your kingdom.”

 “We know,” Cassandra mutters back, and swings herself back up on the horse with Rapunzel, taking the reins and spurring them forward through the broken wall.

Rapunzel waits until they are out of sight, then leans in closer to Cassandra. “That was mean,” she murmurs quietly.

Cassandra glares down at the reins and snaps them sharply, Fidella putting on an extra burst of speed that takes them out of hearing range from Varian and Eugene. “So?” she demands.

“This is hard enough for him without you adding more on top of it, Cass.”

“ _Oh_ , yes, let’s worry about the feelings of a convicted felon.”

Rapunzel doesn’t reply, but her wide eyes are filled with disappointment, lips twisted down into a deep frown. Cassandra scowls at the pavement and urges Fidella into a trot.

Despite the busy hour, the streets of this new city are fairly empty—or, Cassandra suspects, the locals are simply avoiding the path of black rocks cutting through their homes. It is almost like walking through Old Corona again, seeing the far-off clusters and ruins of old houses and streets. The only difference here is that the damage is contained, constricted to only a straight line, an unfaltering path through the city. Yet, even with the differences… the resemblance is uncanny.

Varian’s voice is quiet, drawn tight and strangled, barbed with old hatred. “I wonder. Do you think their king is ignoring the rocks, too?”

Rapunzel’s arms squeeze around Cassandra’s waist, tight enough to be uncomfortable. Cassandra clenches her jaw. No one answers.

Varian’s laugh is a soft and broken thing, bitter and ugly, the sound breaking on what might be a sob. He doesn’t say anything else, and their trek through the town continues in utter silence.

The whole atmosphere of the town should be welcoming. Instead, it just feels cold. Children run and play on the side, people walking around and talking in low voices. But they are distant, straying away, their eyes catching and following the group as they pass. The homes are built of gray, lifeless stone, and to Cassandra’s eyes the city’s colored banners look bright and false, garish against the gray.

There must be some charm to it though, because Rapunzel starts to crane her neck, wide green eyes taking in every inch. Even Varian looks a little stunned, face fallen open with interest and for once looking curious rather than spiteful, his dark mood vanishing briefly as he marvels at the city.

Rapunzel, Cassandra is not surprised at. This is the norm for her. But Varian…

He looks suddenly and uncomfortably like how he used to. Like a kid, like _that_ kid, the one Cassandra once called a friend. Something icy runs along her spine and Cassandra turns her eyes back to the road so quickly she nearly gives herself whiplash, teeth grit and grinding.

Rapunzel touches her arm. “Cass?”

Cassandra takes a deep breath, fighting past the sudden pain in her chest. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, Raps.”

Rapunzel draws away, but her eyes are watchful and knowing. Cassandra pretends she doesn’t notice and busies herself with watching the roads for any threat instead. She has to force herself to look at Varian again, her discomfort not enough to sway her from her duty.

Much to Cassandra’s relief, they reach the center of the city within the half-hour, inching ever-closer to the exit. Watching Varian’s face grow darker with every destroyed house, seeing his eyes flash with rage at every ruined path or home…. Even with this darkness faded in light of his new curiosity, it is nerve-wracking, unnerving, enough to make Cassandra keep a hand on her blade at all times. She cannot wait to be rid of this place.

Unfortunately, it seems Rapunzel must have other ideas. As they enter the city market square, the dark path cutting into a far corner of the busy street, Rapunzel perks up in the saddle. Her wandering eyes must catch on a stall, because the next thing Cassandra knows Rapunzel is swinging herself right off the horse. She is on the ground and running before Cassandra can react.

“Wait just one moment, Cass!”

“Raps!”

“Aw, Blondie, c’mon—”

“Just one minute!”

Rapunzel darts down the street, dodging pedestrians with ease, apparently unaware of how their eyes track her, how they shy away from this stranger from the dark path. Cassandra isn’t. She grips the hilt of her sword to ebb her unease, and traces Rapunzel’s trail with her eyes. The only reason she doesn’t disembark to follow is because Rapunzel stays in sight.

She watches Rapunzel run up to a stall, talking excitedly, hands plucking at her purse. There’s a crowd forming, guards looking uncertain and eyes following her every movement. People are gathering, the low murmur of their voices swelling to an annoyed buzz. For a brief and terrifying moment, the market crowd surges and Cassandra loses sight of Rapunzel in the mob.

Cassandra snarls under her breath, gripping her sword hilt in a white-knuckled grip. “Damn it, Rapunzel!”

She swings herself off Fidella, marching up to Eugene and shoving the reins into his hand. “Hold this. I’m dragging our runaway royal back.”

Eugene looks exasperated. “Cass! She’s just shopping.”

“We need to leave,” Cassandra says, tone brooking no argument. “We _don’t_ need any more unwanted attention. This journey is risky enough.”

She marches away before Eugene can respond, striding up close to Rapunzel, who is thanking the nervous-looking shopkeeper profusely. Cassandra grabs her arm, pulling her away from the stall, dragging her back towards the horses. Rapunzel stumbles a bit in surprise, one arm pinwheeling, her hood slipping off as she catches her feet. She sees Cassandra and blinks in surprise. “Cass? I said I’d only be a minute.”

“What are you doing, Raps? We need to go—” She catches sight of Rapunzel’s purchase and the sheer incredulity of it nearly drives her speechless. “— _Apples?_ You ran off to buy apples? Of all things?”

“And cinnamon!” Rapunzel enthuses, holding a little glass vial of the spice.

“Raps.”

Rapunzel gives her a sheepish smile. “You’ll see,” she promises. “I think I’ve almost got it down by now, so I just thought…” She must see the look on Cassandra’s face because she trails off and her shoulders slump. “…You’re right. I should have waited.” She offers a weak smile. “Sorry, Cass, I just got excited. Um, let’s head back?”

Cassandra casts an uneasy glance around them, worry twining in her gut. The crowd has grown in the few minutes they’ve been talking, strange eyes watching them from all sides. These people do not know Rapunzel, do not love her like Corona does, and she doesn’t like how their eyes linger on her, gawking as if they are a show at a carnival. Women and children and guards and strange men, circling and staring.

“Let’s go,” Cassandra agrees, pulling Rapunzel back to the horses. She wonders if it’s just her imagination seeing the shadows flicker in the alleys, movement in the crowd. She keeps one hand on Rapunzel’s back and grips her sword hilt a little tighter, tilting the sheath so it is more visible. The people draw away, but the cool curiosity in their faces goes a little colder, a little more hostile, a bit more biting.

Her skin crawls, a shiver tiptoeing down her spine, phantom fingers running down her back. Cassandra urges Rapunzel forward and sweeps herself up on the horse, helping Rapunzel get on, trying not to rush but unable to help the restless urgency in her motion.

Maximus draws up beside them, shuffling nervously on his hooves. Eugene extends his arm and passes Cassandra Fidella’s reins, but he must also be unnerved, because for once he doesn’t make any smart quips. Cassandra snatches them back and settles Fidella again, and she is moments away from driving them forward when something flashes in the corner of her eye.

Her breath catches, her instincts screaming in alarm, ringing like bells in her head. Her blood freezes in her veins, every muscle going tense and tight. The world feels as if it is stuck in a thick jelly, every motion turned slow and stupid, and even the simple act of turning her head takes too long, too much time.

A hand—there is a hand, reaching out—broken and dirty fingernails, pale skin rubbed red and mottled black-and-blue—Varian, it is Varian, and he is reaching out to Rapunzel.

Time restarts, and Cassandra strikes.

She whirls in the saddle, heart in her throat, and catches Varian’s hand mid-air. Her fingers wrap fully around his skinny wrist, press against his raw and reddened skin, his bruises from the nightly chains. His fingers spasm in her grip, and Varian cries out in pain, trying desperately to yank back his arm. Cassandra doesn’t let go. She tightens the force of her hold, pressing hard against his bruises in warning. His strangled hiss of pain is ignored.

“What were you doing!” she snaps, feeling breathless, shaken to her bones. She almost hadn’t seen him in time. She almost hadn’t caught him. The near-miss terrifies and enrages her. “Varian! _What were you trying to do!?_ ”

Varian flushes, red blooming on his pale cheeks, meeting her glare with shaky defiance. Pain wars across his face, but he doesn’t move, holding himself carefully still. “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he says, voice shaking with anger but eyes wide with fear. “I wasn’t—”

His voice trails off, and Varian takes a breath, as if to calm himself. This time his voice is steady. “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he says, stronger now, growing livid. His eyes cut away from Cassandra, and he gives Rapunzel a dark look. “Your hood is down, _Princess._ What happened to not wanting to draw attention?”

Rapunzel’s eyes go wide, and her hands fly up to her hair. Eugene swears under his breath, and Cassandra feels her heart drop. She hadn’t even noticed. She’d been so worried about the crowd, she hadn’t even considered _why_ they might be staring. She is so used to seeing Rapunzel with her long and shining gold hair, that she hadn’t considered that such a sight would be unnatural to anyone else.

Rapunzel yanks up her hood quickly, looking pale. Her eyes are wide and fearful. “Oh,” she says, very small. “That’s right. I’m, um… that is—” She stops, shakes her head, tries again. “Uh, thank you, Varian.”

She sounds uncertain, and for good reason. Cassandra grits her teeth and grips Varian’s wrist a little tighter, fingers pressing hard against his skin. Varian’s expression dissolves into a wince of pain, and Cassandra steels herself, refuses to feel guilty.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” she hisses at him, keeping her voice low. “Instead of reaching out—”

“Like you lot ever listen to what I say,” Varian snaps. “And I wasn’t thinking, okay? I just noticed and reacted. It’s not like I was going to—”

“ _I don’t believe you,”_ Cassandra says lowly, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t give me that. I know firsthand what you can and will do if given the chance, Varian. I’ve experienced it, remember?” She lets go of him in disgust, tossing his arm away from her. “ _Don’t_ do that again.”

Varian draws his hand back, rubbing at his wrist. The bruises stand out starkly on his skin, raw-looking and flecked with blood from where the chains have bitten his flesh. His face is flushed an angry red, and for a moment Cassandra almost thinks he is going to fight on her on this, right here on this city street—and then Varian falters.

He goes pale, his fury falling away, even his fists loosening into open palms. He looks Cassandra right in the eyes, and it is like his resentment drains out of him, shoulders rising up by his ears and eyes going wide before dropping away, sullen and quiet. He draws his arm close to his chest as if seeking comfort.

“Fine,” Varian says shortly, looking strangely small. He angles away from them, head lowered so that his hair hides his face.

Cassandra stares at him, too stunned to speak. However she thought Varian might react, this was not an option she considered. Even Rapunzel looks surprised—her horror at her dropped hood forgotten, her eyes flickering back and forth between Varian and Cassandra. Her gaze is thoughtful, distant as if looking at a memory.

Eugene’s eyebrows are arched, but unlike Cassandra and Rapunzel, he looks not just surprised but also a bit pleased. There is an odd warmth in his face as he looks down at Varian.

Eugene must take pity on Varian—who, well aware of the silence, is quickly curling up into a ball on the saddle—as he picks up the reins with a laugh and says, “Well! Shall we head off, then? I can see those walls in the distance, and if Blondie is done shopping and giving us heart attacks…”

Just like that, the frozen atmosphere shatters, and Rapunzel shakes her head with a soft and guilty laugh. Cassandra rolls her eyes and picks up Fidella’s reins, pushing back her unease and confusion. Varian has never made sense to her. She’ll think about it later.

She feels suddenly and strangely guilty for how she’s been acting towards him. As if, in a strange twist, she has become the childish one.

Maybe it is more than Varian’s quiet. Maybe, whatever Eugene said to him, all those days ago—perhaps something stuck. Maybe… Maybe Cassandra should give Varian a chance, too, the way they both have. Perhaps for once, talking is the better option.

She’ll have to wait and see. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, but— if Eugene could do it, then why not Cassandra?

Besides—she wants answers. She wants to _know._ Varian does not make sense to her. His reasons, his logic, how he became who he is—there is a disconnect, a gap in her knowledge. One day he was a friend and the next he was an enemy, and all she has to bridge the divide is a day in a snowstorm, a few seconds of desperation and a frantic plea for help. A plea for Rapunzel—and not Cassandra. What happened after that, she has never been privy to.

She knows now, of course, what happened—the truth delivered in fits and bursts from Rapunzel, weeks after the storm had passed, guilt in every halting word. But the truth, Cassandra is finding, is not enough for her. Varian has been betrayed before. People have lost family before. She is ill at ease with this explanation.

If she should give Varian a chance… if perhaps Cassandra too should try to listen—maybe she will finally have an answer. Maybe there is something she can find, a missing piece that will connect the puzzle and put her turmoil and guilt and childish hurt to rest.

Perhaps. But this is a problem for later, and for now, she must focus. Cassandra takes a deep breath and pushes her tangled thoughts aside, steering her horse back down the path.

“Let’s go,” she says, and urges Fidella into a canter, rushing in front of Maximus with a sly grin, hearing Eugene yelp in offense behind her at the pass. She eases Fidella into a trot and notes their approach to the end of city border with some relief. The path is leading them out, and soon they’ll be free of this town and back into the forest. Soon there will be time to think again—time to come to a decision.

For the remainder of their trek through the town, Cassandra keeps her eyes open and watching. No one follows them. No one attacks them. No one stands out to her.

But the shadows make her uneasy, and the whole ride through, even when they finally leave the walled city behind, her skin crawls with phantom fear.

-

It is late afternoon, only a few hours out from the city, when Cassandra calls them to an early stop.

The sudden jolt of the horse nearly sends Varian toppling, head bobbing like he has a loose joint in his neck as he is rudely forced from his dozing. He has barely slept at all the past few months, and the journey has been no help. He spends more of the day half-asleep than he does awake.

“What’s going on?” he asks blearily, too tired to feel anything but sleepy and vaguely confused. He tilts dangerously on the saddle, and a warm hand presses against his shoulder and holds him in place, keeping him from falling. He leans into it almost subconsciously.

“There’s a storm coming,” Eugene says, and his voice is bright, cheery and lilting, and so unlike the low warm tenor Varian half-expects to hear. For a moment he can literally feel his heart drop as reality sinks in, when he remembers that it is not Dad here with him but strangers, enemies who he once stupidly called friends.

He shoves off Eugene’s hand like it’s burned him, his heart in his throat, his eyes burning. “What?”

“A storm,” Eugene repeats, damnably patient, and points over and above Varian’s shoulder.

Varian follows his finger, staring at the sky. At first, he doesn’t understand—just sees the bright-blue skies of late afternoon and the dark looming silhouettes of far-off trees—except when he squints towards the horizon, at the shadowed hills in the far-off way, he realizes suddenly that those hills might not be hills at all. And then he sees the strange swollen look to them, the dark gray coloring, the way they roll slowly but surely closer. The wind blows cold against his face, howling in his ears, foreshadowing the violence to come.

“Is that…?”

“The storm,” Cassandra confirms, eyes sharp on the horizon. She hefts Fidella’s reins and urges them to the side of the road, away from the rocks. “We’ll have to find the path again tomorrow. We can’t stay here—we need shelter.”

Unease stirs in Varian’s gut. “Why?” he asks, eyeing her doubtfully. “It’s just _rain_.”

“Summer storms are the worst of the lot, especially outside of Corona,” Eugene says cheerfully, spurring Maximus forward. The horse grumbles like a dog and tosses his neck in annoyance, leaving Varian to scramble for a hold on the iron ball. “One time, _years_ ago, Lance and I—” He coughs into his hand at Varian’s blank stare. “Er, well, that’s a story for another time. The short of it: more rain, more lightning, thunder… and don’t get me started on the wind!”

The description is chilling. Varian casts a troubled glance at the sky.

“We’ll be fine,” Eugene tells him, softer now, as if he’s noticed Varian’s apprehension. “Just got to find better shelter.”

Varian glances behind them at the rock path, already obscured by the trees, and grudging faces forward. “We better not lose sight of the road,” he mutters under his breath.

“We’ll be fine,” Cassandra calls back, startling Varian upright. “I know how to track, and Maximus is the best guard horse ever trained.” Her side-eye is cutting, and Varian flushes with anger and embarrassment. He hadn’t realized she’d been listening.

“Guys!” Rapunzel calls out from ahead, and Cassandra turns away, freeing Varian from her stare. She unsettles him, if he is being honest. She looks at him as if she can see right through him, like he’s beneath her. She never looked at him like that before, back when they were all still pretending to be friends.

His insides twist like there is a knife in his chest, and someone is digging it deeper, wrenching the blade. He scrapes his nails down the iron ball to keep from clenching his fists and bites down hard on his lip. It doesn’t help.

Ahead, Rapunzel has dismounted, arms outspread to present her find—the side of a great hill, a deep dark niche leading inwards. The top of it slopes like a ramp, the sides jagged and torn as if the small niche had been haphazardly carved in the hill with an unskilled and sloppy hand.

“Caves!” Rapunzel enthuses, voice bright with delight. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think,” Varian says blandly, before the others can reply, “that we’re all going to be eaten by bears.”

“We can hold them off!”

Varian gives her a close-lipped smile. “Do you make a habit of displacing people from their homes for your own comfort, _Princess_?”

Rapunzel’s sunny smile flickers and falters, and Varian has one brief second of satisfaction before a hand hooks in his shirt collar and pulls him forward and off the horse— _Eugene_ , again, damn him. Ever since he pulled Varian around like disobedient kitten five days ago he’s been doing it with increasing regularity. 

Varian twists in his hold and claws at his fingers, accidentally letting go of the iron sphere, and just narrowly missing crushing his toes. The close call makes him yelp, and he scrambles at Eugene’s arm to drag himself up, dangling midair like a bedraggled cat. Someone—he isn’t sure who—snickers.

He drops back to the ground with red cheeks and hot shame curling his gut. “Let go of me,” he hisses at Eugene. He glares at all of them, Rapunzel especially, who is hiding a smile behind her hand, the sting of Varian’s words forgotten.

At this point, Varian is starting to think Eugene is doing this on purpose.

He snatches his bag from Maximus’s saddle and marches into the cave, refusing to look at them. The iron ball drags like a leaden weight behind him, tugging painfully at his ankle.

The caves are, thankfully, blessedly clear of any wildlife. Varian suspects it may be the proximity to the black stone path—animals tend to shy away from the rocks once they appear, with exception to Ruddiger, who got used to them after enough time with Varian. Every other animal Varian’s seen, however, has avoided those unbreakable spires like the plague. It makes him wonder if there is something they can sense about it that humans cannot, or if perhaps the animals are more aware than most of the sheer unnatural structure of the rocks.

Regardless, their small group is free to settle down and rest without fear of imminent bear attack. As Cassandra and Eugene gather branches and get a low fire started, and Rapunzel leads the horses inside, Varian settles down against the wall of their low shelter, shifting to get more comfortable against the unforgiving stone. He watches the sky from inside their cave, tracking the movement of the oncoming tempest, seeing the light and roiling storm clouds stain the sky a brilliant pink and orange-gold.

Eventually the color becomes so vivid it reminds him uncomfortably of the amber. Varian turns away, searching for a new distraction. A thump of a tail catches his attention. Ruddigeris snoozing at his side, eyes half-lidded and little nose twitching, paws scrambling for imaginary food. His tail smacks into Varian’s leg again.

A smile pulls at the corner of Varian’s mouth, tired and small but genuine. He digs through his pockets until he finds a leftover nut from the day’s lunch, then sets it carefully down in front of Ruddiger.

He watches intently, waiting for his raccoon to notice the treat. Sure enough, Ruddiger’s nose starts trembling, paws reaching out for the nut. Varian bites back another smile and carefully moves the nut away. Ruddiger’s eyes snap open. He looks at Varian.

This time Varian does smile, practically a grin, and gently tosses the nut away from him, near the wall. Ruddiger scrambles to his feet and ambles forward in a scurry, rolling forward and batting the nut back, looking delighted.

Varian taps it with his foot, sending it spinning, and Ruddiger tumbles after the nut like an oversized kitten. His paws slip on the cave floor and he flips head-over-heels after the treat, and Varian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Ruddiger taps the nut back to Varian, and they play catch that way for a while, tossing the seed back and forth until the sky outside is more red than orange and the awful gnawing pain in his heart eases away to something more manageable. When Ruddiger finally tires of the game, Varian breaks open the shell against the wall and sets the halves down so that Ruddiger can eat the meat of the seed. He leans against the wall as he watches, smiling without realizing it, feeling calm and sleepy and blissfully alone.

As if on cue, the heavy thump of footsteps echoes in his ears, heading towards him. Varian casts a glance to the side, good mood faltering and then taking a nosedive once he sees it’s Cassandra.

Varian watches her approach with suspicious eyes and a sinking heart. Can’t they all just leave him _alone?_ Bad enough they are here at all; so why does it feel like they are trying to crush whatever bit of peace and happiness he manages to find in this whole ordeal?

Still, however nasty his thoughts, Varian holds his tongue. Cassandra… she confuses him. Ever since Eugene dragged him off and tore Varian down word by word, he hasn’t been sure of what to make of her.

Varian knows how the Princess and her group see him. He knows they look at him and see the bad guy, and that’s _fine,_ because Varian knows the truth. He is right, and this is justice, and if they can’t see that than it is no fault of his.

Eugene had vehemently disagreed with this notion. And as much as Varian would like to ignore him, to brush off his words…

He can’t forget it, is the thing. He can’t _ignore_ it _._ “ _She’s done nothing to you,_ ” and Varian thinks—no, that can’t be true, but he can’t… he can’t remember why, exactly, he was so angry at Cassandra. He can’t remember why it was so easy to hold her in the hands of his automaton and crush her slowly, why he felt nothing but satisfaction and a tired sort of victory. And he can’t remember why he was so convinced she’d betrayed him too, when he can’t recall talking with her, can’t recall her denying him the way Rapunzel did.

Her only crime, then, was not caring enough. And where once this would have been enough for him to justify his actions, now he is not so sure.

All those things he did, Varian did them because he was certain. He has never doubted himself. But for the first time… the doubts are there, and they are swarming. They whisper in his ears and crawl beneath his skin. They are “ _She has done nothing to you,”_ and _“Why do you hate us,”_ and _“Not everyone is like you.”_ These doubts, they remind him that no, his food in the prison wasn’t tampered with after all, and that no, he never gave Cassandra a chance to deny him, and no, Eugene never broke a promise.

And this terrifies Varian, these doubts, this uncertainty. Varian cannot afford doubt, cannot afford to hesitate or falter or second-guess himself. He can’t waver, he can’t be anything less than absolutely certain, because anything less is an obstacle, a hindrance in his task to free his dad.

If Varian falters, his father dies, because who else is willing to go the lengths to save him? Not Rapunzel, that’s for sure; all she cares about is Corona. No, it is only Varian, only ever Varian, and if he loses himself here his dad will _never_ be free.

He almost thinks he hates them for that, too. For making him doubt himself. But he still cannot deny the truth in their words.

For this reason alone, Varian stays quiet when Cassandra approaches, draws away back against the wall, but doesn’t say a word when she stops before him. She is standing where he is sitting, unbelievably tall to his eyes, and it makes something in him squirm and pull away, fear seizing at his throat.

Cassandra doesn’t seem to share his unease. Her back is straight, her hands loosely propped up on her hips, near her sword hilt. Her dark eyes are frosty and unreadable to him. She isn’t smiling, but she isn’t frowning either, and Varian doesn’t know what to _do_ with that information, whether it’s good or bad or maybe nothing at all.

“Varian,” she says, in that careful detached way of hers.

“Cassie,” he returns, and only sneers the name a little bit.

For once this does not seem to shake her. Her head tilts up, eyebrow rising. Everything about her is cold—cold like ice and steel, as sharp as her blade. “Only my friends can call me that,” she says coolly. “It’s Cassandra to you.”

“Whatever you say, _Cassie.”_

She waits. Varian glares. Her eyebrow inches a little higher. “Is that all?” she asks finally. “Just that? I expected more, really. You were so talkative a few days ago.”

He flinches at the memory, back bowing in what might be shame, hands curling into loose fists. Varian looks away first. He pets Ruddiger, silent and still at his side, and rubs at one of the raccoon’s ears before gently pushing him away, sensing Ruddiger’s unease with the situation. He watches his friend scamper off to avoid looking at Cassandra, missing his presence but knowing Ruddiger will not react well if Varian makes him stay.

Besides. Varian is not afraid of Cassandra. He _refuses_ to be afraid of her. He can face her on his own, plagued by doubts or not.

Cassandra watches Ruddiger run off, and then looks at Varian, quiet and contemplative. Her eyes rest heavy on his shoulders, staring through him, judging him. At long last she moves, scoffing under her breath, the threat in her stance bleeding away as she leans casually against the wall. She doesn’t sit, still towering over him, but there is something looser in the way she holds herself now, something less like a challenge. As they are having a polite conversation rather than an interrogation.

“I don’t get you,” she says abruptly, without prompting. Varian glances up, but she isn’t looking at him, just away, towards the fire where Rapunzel and Eugene are setting up a spit to fry food. She slumps against the wall, looking suddenly and frightfully exhausted. “I really don’t. Every time I think I’ve figured it out, you change yourself again.”

“Is there a point to this?”

Cassandra snorts. “Oh, probably. But why bother? You’ve never given a straight answer anyways.” She looks down at him. “You’d think I’d know, right? We were friends, at one point.”

Varian bares his teeth at her. No matter what Eugene says, Cassandra makes it so easy to hate her. Maybe he was wrong in how he handled the situation, but Cassandra has always treated _him_ worse than the others do.

“You can cut the act,” he spits back. “‘Friends,’ hah! Like you ever cared about me in the first place.”

Cassandra’s eyes go narrow and flinty, and she draws herself up to her full height. “I did, actually.”

“Only after I proved myself _useful,”_ Varian counters bitterly, old hurt seizing at his heart.

“Only after you proved I was wrong,” Cassandra corrects, her words frosty but rising in both volume and emotion. “Is that what you want to hear, Varian? That I was wrong to leave you behind then, at the expo? Because I was wrong; I admit that fully. But I apologized for that. You _forgave_ me for that.” She shakes her head, eyes shadowed, dark hair fluttering around her face. “I admired that, Varian. That ability to forgive.” Her eyes cut over to him, sharp as broken glass. “Though maybe you never really had it in the first place, huh?”

Varian glares at her. “What,” he snarls. “You think because I was dumb enough to forgive you for that, I should forgive Rapunzel too? What about _you,_ then? Would it be enough for you if I just say I’m sorry?” He pastes a sickly-sweet smile on his face and holds out his cuffed hands like an offering. “I’m so _sorry,_ Cassie, I never meant to do it, pretty please can you forgive me and let me go off on my merry way?”

Cassandra reels back, expression shuddering closed. Her hands are white-knuckled and shaking, held stiff and unnaturally still by her side. “This was a bad idea,” she says, more to herself than to Varian. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

He drops the smile off his face and the sweetness from his voice. “Yes, let’s hear it, _Cassie._ What _were_ you expecting, coming up to talk to the big bad villain?”

“I don’t know, Varian,” Cassandra snaps, standing so suddenly from the wall that Varian flinches back before he can stop himself. “I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out. Maybe I’m trying to understand, how you—how you became _this!_ ” She gestures wildly at him, at his ragged frame and the bruises on his wrists, the chains clinking at his ankles.

“You don’t make sense!” Cassandra shouts at him, striding forward. “You’re a selfish and brutal kid, but at times you’re almost helpful and sometimes you even—act, or look like you used to, and I. Don’t. Get it!”

“So sorry to make things _confusing_ for you,” Varian spits back, pulling back his shoulders to mirror her offensive stance. He is trembling, from fear or anger even he doesn’t know. “What, would you like a flowchart? A graph, maybe? Test results?”

Abruptly, Cassandra deflates. She pulls back, pulls away from him, one hand rising to rub at her hair. “This was a bad idea,” she says again, almost a whisper. Her hand tightens, pulls at the strands, then falls. When she straightens again, it is as if all her anger has vanished. Only her exhaustion remains.

“You were my friend, once,” she says finally. “I think. Tell me, Varian, what happened to you? I miss that boy, sometimes. Do you?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I don’t know, Varian. Is it? Sometimes I don’t even recognize you. Do _you_ recognize you?”

Her words dig deep. Varian bristles at the accusation, temper flaring like a spark. “Fine. Fine! Let’s go with that, then. _That boy_ trusted you, thought the princess could keep her promises, thought _you_ were worth noticing. I—I _looked up_ to you guys! I thought we were friends! And then the, the moment I needed you, none of you were there for me! None of you cared!”

Cassandra remains undaunted. “We cared,” she says, quietly. “We just couldn’t help. Not then.”

Varian laughs at her, bringing up his hands to hide his face, digging his palms into the hollows of his eyes. “And _after?_ After the storm? Where were you then, _Cassie?”_

She sucks in a little breath, the sound whistling between her teeth. She doesn’t reply. The silence sits heavy with guilt.

Varian curls into himself, gritting his teeth. He won’t cry here, he _won’t_ , not in front of her. God, why did Varian ever doubt his anger towards her? Why did he think for even a moment that Eugene might be right? They have never cared, and he is—he is an idiot for wishing otherwise.

“You’re right, Varian,” Cassandra says suddenly, voice raw. Varian looks up slowly. “We… we let you down. _I_ let you down. But you never—you never came back. We didn’t come for you, you’re right, but—you never came for _us,_ either. We thought…” She trails off, making a low noise of frustration. “Varian, I thought whatever had happened, I thought it was over! We all… when the storm ended, everything was suddenly okay again. I guess—I guess we thought that would apply to you, too.”

“It didn’t,” Varian says dully, the words scraping past his throat.

Cassandra meets his eyes with difficulty. “No,” she agrees, and her voice is very soft. “We just wanted it to work that way. But life—isn’t like that. And…”

She turns away sharply, shaking her head. “Damn it,” she whispers. “Varian, I’m _sorry_. I’m sorry that happened, okay? But that doesn’t change what you did. That doesn’t change—what you’ve done.” Her voice grows cold again, strong and unwavering. “You committed treason. You kidnapped the Queen. And you tried to commit murder three times, that night. And that—Varian, I don’t understand that. I don’t understand how… _you_ could do that.”

Her eyes bore into him, knowing, questioning. They tear through him, peer past his defenses, demand a truth Varian doesn’t know himself. “You changed. You _changed._ Do you even know who you are now, Varian? Do you know what kind of person you are? Because I sure don’t.”

Her words shake Varian to the core, striking deep at insecurities he didn’t even know he had. He bares his teeth at her in a smile but cannot muster up the anger or the energy to make it real. It sits weak and trembling on his pale face, shaky like his conviction.

“Getting philosophical, are we?” he asks, and even his voice betrays him, sounds small and flimsy to his own ears. He’s shaking head to toe, throat aching from the tension, feeling like all his arguments are slipping through his fingers. He scrabbles for purchase, for a reason, for something to hold onto.

“Or maybe just curious,” Cassandra returns, shaking her head again, a sigh echoing out. She brushes back her bangs, looks at him, something lost in her expression. “I just don’t understand.”

“Let me know,” Varian spits back, desperate to escape her, escape this, escape  _them—_ “when you figure it out.”

Her eyes go cold, and whatever vulnerability she revealed, it is gone again, locked away behind a blank mask. “I will,” Cassandra snaps, and turns away, striding back to the campfire. Her hands are curled into fists.

“I don’t accept it,” Varian calls to her retreating back, unable to let it go. His good mood is gone, spoiled rotten, bitterness clawing at his heart.  “Your—your _fake_ apology. You can make whatever excuses you want, but I know—you never cared about what happened to me! You _still_ don’t care! You’re a liar and a traitor, and I wish—I wish— I wish you’d all just _go away!_ ”

Cassandra stiffens, head tilting back. When she turns to face him, her eyes are as dark as the oncoming storm clouds, and just as furious. She opens her mouth again, lips pulled back in a snarl—and then her eyes go wide.

Before Varian can react, Cassandra sprints towards him, one hand grabbing the front of his shirt. She yanks him clean off his feet with one tug, dragging him off the ground.

Varian yelps, anger fading as his panic spikes. He scrambles at her hands, trying to pry her fingers from his collar, but only a moment later Cassandra throws him to the side and shouts, loud enough for everyone in the cave to hear, “Find cover, damn it!”

A muted clink has Varian whirling to look behind him. He turns to see an arrow hit the wall and clatter to the ground right where he’d been sitting only a second ago, and looks up just time to see the archer draw back her bow.

-

At the moment when danger strikes, humans have three instincts— to fight, to flee, or to freeze.

Varian looks up at the archer, sees the gleam of the arrowhead aimed in his direction, and goes absolutely immobile. He is still shaken from his argument with Cassandra, still struggling to make sense of the rush of events that happened just before this—Cassandra darting forward, grabbing him like she was going to hit him, throwing him to safety. He is dizzy and he is sleepy and he is tired, tired to his bruised and aching bones, and so Varian looks at the arrow and goes stone-cold.

 _“Move!”_ Cassandra snarls, grabbing the back of his shirt and throwing him clear once again. Varian tumbles across the rocky ground, the iron ball bouncing and rolling beside him, tugging uncomfortably at his leg, just barely missing his fingers. The painful scrape of stone against his skin jolts him back to awareness, and Varian rolls to his feet, gasping for air, so panicked he can barely think.

“Who— what— who _is_ that!?”

Another man comes roaring into the cave, broad-shouldered and wielding a sword about as long as Varian is tall. Cassandra draws her own blade with a soft _shing_ of sharp steel and parries his swing, ducking underneath his arm and punching the taller man in the throat with a merciless jab. He goes down coughing and gagging, and she kicks his sword from his hands and brings her heel down on his back, sending him slamming face-down to the cave floor.

Varian stares, awed and a little intimidated. His hand rubs his own throat self-consciously, and he winces at the awful noises the man is making against the ground.

“I was afraid of this,” Cassandra says, her voice dark with irritation. She shoots the mouth of the cave a sour look, and leaps off the attacker moments before an arrow hits her face. She rises from her perfect roll with a scowl. “ _Bandits._ Or worse, bounty hunters. Take your pick. Probably a group from that city—”

She ducks behind a jutting stone alcove nears the side of the cave and drags Varian with her, as if the weight of the iron ball is little more than an annoyance. His ankle throbs from the pull. “They probably saw Rapunzel in the square when her hood fell. God _damn_ it.”

Across the other end of the cave, arrows littering her feet from where she’s parried them with her frying pan, Rapunzel is pale. “But how did they find us!?”

“How else,” Varian snaps, mind whirling, fear and anger spiking at her words. He feels oddly breathless and terribly small. Ruddiger scurries to his side, trembling visibly, and he pulls the raccoon close in his arms to reassure himself that they are still in one piece. “What, did you think we were the _only_ ones who could follow the black rocks?”

Rapunzel goes red. “Well, no, but—”

A loud war cry breaks apart their conversation, and more men come rushing in, heading straight for the princess. Without looking back, Rapunzel smacks her frying pan into Eugene’s gut and slings her hair around one man’s arm, yanking the bandit off his feet and towards her. Behind her, Eugene is waiting with a grin and a raised weapon, frying pan swinging at the man’s face full-force. The man goes down hard. Eugene twirls the frying pan in his grip, laughing. Rapunzel and Eugene meet the next group of bandits head-on.

Even Maximus, standing guard over their stuff and a frightened Pascal, is mauling the ground and looking moments away from charging. The horse pulls a sword out from his saddlebag, jabbing the blade at any bandits who draw too close, Fidella pawing dangerously at the air beside him. Pascal, yellow with fear, jumps on the face of any attacker who gets too close, spiky tail going for the eyes.

Cassandra looks back at Varian and scowls down at him like he’s a problem she doesn’t know what to do with. Her hand reaches out and pushes him deeper into the alcove, out of sight. The rocks dig painfully into his back, the stone rough and gritty beneath his hands.

“Stay here,” Cassandra says, all ice, and then she too is running out to join the battle, her sword a silver flash at her side.

Varian stands behind his rocky shelter, holding a trembling raccoon in his arms, feeling small and ignored and a little silly. He feels like a kid. He feels _angry,_ because once again—once more—Cassandra is tossing him aside.

“Do you know who you are now?” Cassandra had asked, and Varian thinks, _I am not the kind of person who runs away from my problems._

And he is not the kind of person to let other people—people he hates, especially—solve those problems for him.

His decision is impulsive, spiteful; a choice made in an instant. He puts Ruddiger down carefully behind the rocks and winces when the raccoon clings to him with his nails. Ruddiger’s dark eyes are wide and fearful, ears laid flat against his head and whole body scrunching against the rock in an effort to make himself smaller.

Varian gives Ruddiger a warm smile, wide and bright and maybe a little manic, and carefully pries his claws off his arm, ignoring the burning sting of new cuts on old bruises. “Stay here,” he whispers, and then he drags up the iron ball, settles it on his hip, and sprints out from behind the shelter.

He almost trips the moment he ducks out from his cover, but it’s too late to back out now. Varian catches himself moments before he falls on his face and keeps running. A split-second glance around the cave shows that the others are handling themselves well— there’s more of the bandits than there are of them, but the princess and her entourage are more skilled, so it balances out.

Still, there are enough men to make the battle a struggle. Varian spies one thug rushing past with club held high, heading straight for Eugene’s unprotected back. He is so focused on Eugene he misses the boy right beside him, and Varian sticks out his foot with a wicked grin.

The man goes crashing down face-first on the unforgiving stone, and Eugene whirls in alarm at the noise. He stares. Varian gives an impulsive little wave, impish smile still lingering, and slips back into the fight.

Beyond the few strays, most of the bandits are being taken care of rather quickly. The only one they haven’t yet caught is the archer, who is wisely staying out of range from the main battle, shooting infrequently but accurately now that the majority of the bandit group has joined the fray.

Varian aims for her. Ball settled against his hip like how one would carry a basket, the weight present but manageable after nearly two weeks of lugging the damn thing around, he runs flat out towards the archer. He gets all the way out of the cave, almost to the boulder the archer is using as higher ground, when the bandit finally catches him.

He has only a moment to notice the gleam as the steel arrowhead catches on the light of the twilight sun, bright and golden in his eyes. Only a second to drop to the ground to avoid it, the weight of that iron chain dragging him to the earth with a hard thump, the first honest use he’s found for the thing.

The arrow flies uselessly over his head, ruffling his hair as it whizzes past.

Varian scrambles for the iron ball as soon as the arrow is gone, nails digging in the dirt as he pulls the ball-and-chain roughly to him. He rolls on his back and then up to his feet, throwing himself forward without hesitation.

Varian is close enough now that that the archer cannot really shoot, and judging by the angry pallor of the woman’s face, she is well aware of that. Varian is face-to-face with her, looking up right into her pale eyes.

“A child,” says the archer, shortly, scornfully. She drops her bow and arrow to the ground with a scoff of disgust, and Varian has a split second of hope before she yanks free the knife from her boot.

“This,” says the archer, “will be too easy,” and Varian grins up at her, hard and furious.

“I am not a child,” he says right back, and then he grips his chains in his clammy hands and swings the iron ball at her with all his might.

The dead weight of the iron ball and the pull of gravity work in his favor. The solid iron sphere hits the archer’s leg with a heavy snap of metal against skin and bone. Varian can _feel_ her leg give out beneath his swing, a sensation that makes him feel sick to his stomach.

The crack of bone, sudden and brutal, makes him flinch back, pull his swing. Varian falters in his momentum, the chains swinging limp in his hands. The archer goes white, eyes widening as she recoils, her scream loud and strangled. Varian has the sudden and strange urge to apologize, a notion that fades almost as soon as it appears, because the archer—the archer doesn’t fall.

She pulls back, but she doesn’t fall, and she doesn’t drop the knife either. Unlike Varian, there is no hesitation in her eyes or her motion. Only fury, hatred, and a terrible pain that only serves to fuel the others.

Her fingers tighten around the hilt, dragging the knife above her head. The light catches on the clean blade, shines in his eyes. Varian has a split second to stare, a moment to realize just what the archer intends, to know that he doesn’t have enough time to move away. A moment to freeze, and watch helplessly as the archer’s hand falls, and her blade with it, aimed with deadly precision at his neck.

 Before the archer can slit his throat, a dark form leaps over the rock and kicks the archer into the trees. The knife goes flying in one direction, the woman the other, her body arching like a doll’s, before she crashes against the ground with a strangled yelp.

With aching slowness, the archer tries to rise to her feet, but her injured leg gives out, sending her crashing to one knee. She looks up, face furious and eyes all-white all around, fixed solely on Varian. Her hatred is chilling in its intensity.

He almost thinks she will try and attack him again, injured leg or not, but the tip of a sword comes to rest beneath her chin, and the archer freezes like a deer in a lantern light.

Varian freezes too, startled from his stupor, head snapping around so quick he almost gives himself whiplash. It’s Cassandra, Varian realizes. Perhaps it should have been obvious, and yet, this realization sends him reeling. Cassandra who came flying over that boulder to stop the archer from stabbing him, Cassandra who has kicked this woman away, Cassandra who stands here in front of him, sword blade gleaming like a diamond in the sunset and blood smeared across her knuckles. Cassandra who stands with her back to him, one foot in front of him, protecting him, her sword resting light as a feather at the bandit archer’s vulnerable throat.

“Don’t move,” Cassandra says, and her voice is unlike anything Varian has ever heard before, even when she was talking with him. Everything about her is steel and ice and razor-sharp fury, cold and impersonal. There is no feeling in her words. No mercy.

“Unless,” Cassandra adds, when the archer eyes her blade, “you’d like me to slit your throat?”

The woman goes still again. Her pale eyes burn like hot coals in her sunken face, white with pain.

“That’s what I thought,” Cassandra says dispassionately, and jerks her head back at Varian. He jolts, meeting her gaze uncertainly. He draws away without thinking, glancing at her sword, but Cassandra makes no move to threaten him or berate him for going against her orders.

Neither does she seem to notice his reluctance. “Go grab the rope,” she instructs. “Raps and Fitzherbert are using it to hogtie the others. There should be enough there for us to use for this one, too.”

Varian hesitates for only a moment, then turns and heads back to the cave, something stuck on the tip of his tongue. It is almost second nature to say “Thank you,” to call it over his shoulder.

He swallows it down just before it slips loose, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

Just as Cassandra said, Rapunzel and Eugene are tying up the remaining thugs with pools of rope, the many members of the bandits sprawled out in various painful positions at the cave entrance. Varian lingers outside of the pile, suddenly uncertain, and Eugene looks up before he can wonder about how to approach this.

“Rope?” he asks, and when Varian gives a short nod, replies with a short nod of his own, and hands Varian a spool of the stuff. Short and to the point, and yet the exchange is oddly warm, almost friendly. Varian leaves, turning his back on them, feeling vaguely unsettled at the compassionate treatment and weird sense of camaraderie that the fight has left him with.

He reaches Cassandra as quick as he can, feeling off-center and wrong-footed, uncertain of where they stand with each other. The fight has drained his earlier anger, calmed his mind and his heart, as if their argument took place weeks ago instead of mere minutes. He dislikes it, unnerved by how quickly his mood has changed.

He shoves the rope to her like its burned him. Cassandra doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Tie her up,” she tells him, and when he gives her an incredulous look, raises one eyebrow at him. “Unless you’d rather I remove this sword from her neck and have her try to strangle you.”

Varian flushes and snaps the rope back to his side. He marches in sullen quiet to the archer’s back, looping the twine around her wrists and pulling it tighter than he probably should, spite in the face of his near demise at her blade. The archer tugs at the restraints with a snarl, and Varian steps away from her, uneasy.

“Good,” Cassandra says, and slides the sword back in her sheath, picking up the woman by her bound arms and marching her back towards the other bandits. She gets three steps away before she pauses.

“Varian,” she says finally, in that cool voice that is not quite the icy tone she’d used on the woman, not quite the warmer lilt she’d talked with when he was a friend. Something different, something he once thought of as cold but now suspects is something unique. “Don’t do that again.”

He draws away as if she’s slapped him, and then he rocks forward again, digging his nails into his palms, something bitter bubbling in his throat. Of course. Of course this is what she tells him, after everything. Of course this is all Cassandra has to say.

“I don’t trust you,” Cassandra continues, in that same strange tone. “And quite frankly? I don’t really like you. You go against my orders again, and I’ll treat it like the threat it is. Like the threat you pose.” She pauses, and then she glances back, just a flash of her dark eyes before she turns back to the cave, hiding her face from view. “But…” She stops, sighing out into the air. When she speaks next her voice is the softest he’s ever heard it.

“Thank you, Varian.”

It is not a gasp, or an exhale, or even a sigh—merely as though Varian has been holding his breath, and these are the words that knock it loose, rushing through his teeth and taking all of his emotions with it. His shoulders drop, his fists falling open, his eyes going wide and his mouth a soft ‘o’ of faint surprise. She walks away from him and Varian stares after her, shaken to his bones, more affected by those words than anything else she could have said. He had not thought them—he hadn’t known they had it in them to thank him, when only seconds ago Varian himself had refused to thank her.

As if they are allies, instead of enemies.

He wants— he wants to feel angry, wants to find the fury and hold onto it, remind himself of the what and why. But either that lingering sense of belonging, or the way Cassandra rushed to save him, or maybe just the quiet sincerity in Cassandra’s voice as she spoke… whatever it is, it chases away his anger before he can even try to hold onto it.

Maybe, Varian thinks, watching Cassandra walk back to the cave, maybe he was wrong, to attack Cassandra as he did, back then in Old Corona. The mere idea unsettles him—he can’t be wrong, he can’t, because if he was wrong about this what if he was wrong about other things? He can’t be wrong, he isn’t at fault—but the thought doesn’t fade.

He sucks in a breath and tears his eyes from her back. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t so much that he was _wrong,_ as it was… an overreaction. Yes, that’s it. He just… overreacted a little, that’s all. He’s right to be angry at Cassandra. He was right to do what he did. He must be. He just went a little too far, that time.

He won’t apologize, but he doesn’t have to act that way towards her anymore. A compromise, Varian thinks. Yes, he can do that. Eugene isn’t right about Varian, _he’s not_ , but that doesn’t mean everything he said was wrong.

And just like that, Varian realizes what it is about Cassandra that is different. The thing about her voice that changed, when talking to Varian versus talking to the archer. She had been cold to the archer: icy, unfeeling, indifferent. But when Cassandra speaks to Varian, her words are sharp and biting and… hurt. Searching for a reason, just like him.

He doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know what to do with this revelation. He pulls his gaze away from her, drops his eyes to the ground—and then he stills.

There is an arrow left discarded at his feet, from when the archer tossed aside her bow. An arrow, her empty quiver… and her knife.

Varian hesitates. His head rises, eyes seeking them out, Cassandra and Eugene and Rapunzel, talking in low voices as they finish tying up the thugs. They aren’t looking at him. They aren’t looking his way at all.

Hands shaking with an unnamable emotion, Varian drops to his knees behind the boulder, picking up the arrow and the knife. He uses the knife to cut off the bottoms of his sleeves, already worn from travel, re-rolling them to hide the missing fabric. Then he takes the stripes and wraps them around the arrowhead, fingers shaking so bad he almost slips and cuts himself. When it is wrapped, he shoves it feather-first down his boot, the wrapped head pressing against his leg, held securely in place by the tight chains around his ankles. When he drops down his pant legs, the little that shows through the top of his boot is completely hidden.

Varian freezes, knife in one hand, a quiver by his side, a single arrow pressing firm against his skin. His breath rattles in his chest. He feels oddly cold, and strangely guilty, an emotion he brushes away as soon as he realizes what it is.

“They aren’t my friends,” Varian reminds himself in a low hiss. His voice trembles in his ears, weak with uncertainty. “They _aren’t_ my friends, they don’t care, and I owe them _nothing.”_

They aren’t his friends, and the fact he is starting to doubt even that is proof that Varian is faltering. The arrow… it reminds him. He has chosen to be here, but he is here for his reasons, not theirs. He can play along, make nice, but he will never be their friend. Never again.

Thus assured, he breathes out, slow and careful, and stands up from behind the boulder. He smooths out his tunic and picks up the abandoned quiver, and just barely keeps from startling when Rapunzel calls out to him.

“Varian?”

“Right here,” he replies calmly, bland and uninterested. He walks with shaky knees back to the group, hyperaware of the arrow in his boot. “I got the quiver and knife,” he adds, and when Cassandra’s head snaps up, meets her eyes deliberately as he drops the items on the floor.

“What do you take me for, an enemy?” he asks her, and turns away before she can reply. The look on her face would be amusing in any other circumstance, but Varian is too nervous to really enjoy it.

He wanders back to the alcove where he left Ruddiger, and manages only a thin wisp of a smile when his raccoon scrabbles out of hiding to crawl up on his shoulders and chitter like a worried mother in his ears. He can feel Ruddiger’s trembling, and Varian picks him up off his shoulders to settle him in his arms, sliding down the wall until he sits, breathing shakily. Ruddiger turns in his grasp and curls up on his lap, crooning, and Varian pets him with a gentle hand, his fingers cold and stiff, not quite feeling like his own.

He picks at the tangles in Ruddiger’s fur, mumbling reassurances and apologies for scaring him under his breath, ignoring the others studiously as they walk into the cave. The bandits are gone, tied to their horses and sent running wild back through the forest. It is just them in the cave now, their voices low and hushed with excitement, the adrenaline from the fight fading slowly.

Varian pets Ruddiger until the sunset fades completely and the dark night envelopes them, the pale glow of a low-burning fire shining in the corner of his eye. He doesn’t move and he doesn’t speak, and the others do not acknowledge him, and yet he cannot shake the sense that this time it is different. There is a sense of belonging that had not been there before, a bond built by fighting together. It sends shivers clawing down his back even as some small, weaker part of him soaks in the acknowledgment like a man dying of thirst.

Against his leg, the arrow presses hard enough to bruise.

Varian turns his head away, back to the sky. He watches the tall dark silhouettes of the trees, all one being in the darkness, catches glimpse of the stars through the heavy clouds, thick as cotton but dark as coal.

The fire crackles, and someone laughs, and it does not grate on him as it used to. And slowly, starting as a drizzle and then quickening to the drumbeat of a downpour, under the supervision of Varian’s watchful eyes, it begins to rain—the storm, finally upon them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my personal headcanon, Cassandra’s view of a person is kind of polarized. She doesn’t look for the good in people, not like Rapunzel does. So, I think, when she sees good in people she doesn’t expect it from—especially from someone who has hurt her personally—I imagine it would confuse her. She can’t grasp how Varian can still care, smile, laugh—and then turn around and try to kill people he once laughed with. It doesn’t compute. 
> 
> Cassandra tends to be pretty objective and yet, set in her opinions, and Varian is kind of the same way— they're both very stubborn in their views of each other. But, I imagine traveling together would make the situation more…. rocky for them, if that makes sense? It’s easy to hate people at a distance, but it gets a whole lot harder when you’re forced to interact with them every single day. Because then you start to see things like, hey, Varian can still smile and mean it, and he can be helpful, and he actually is… really young, all things considered, and sometimes he even acts like it. Or, Cass struggles with putting aside her own hurt feelings, no matter how objective she’d like to be, and hey, even when angry she’ll still jump into battle to save him, because that’s the kind of person she is. They still care, even with how twisted up the whole thing is. They were friends once. Anyways, long story short, they’re both a bit of a mess and like, wow, leave the important talks to Eugene, I’m begging you guys.
> 
> The arrow scene was another interesting struggle. I didn’t plan this at all—the scene kind of wrote itself, it feels like. For a long time I just sort of stared at my screen like, Varian, honey? The hell you doing? Just cause in some ways, the arrow scene doesn’t make sense. He’s bonding with the group, he’s heading the same direction they are, he’s not actually a prisoner—he agreed to this! But after awhile, I realized why this scene had to happen—and why it felt so true to Varian’s character for me. On this journey, Varian is on the defensive. He’s tired, outcast, grieving, angry... and he’s been this way for months, which is draining on a whole new level. It takes real effort to maintain that kind of anger. Plus, all these things Varian was so sure of in the finale? “I’m the bad guy, that’s fine; it’s no fault of mine,” “but whatever I’ve done you deserved,” even “I know that I’m right”— all of this is coming into question the longer he travels with them. Was it all really deserved? Does all the blame actually fall on Rapunzel? And, worst of all— Was he ever right in what he did? Was this ever something that could make his dad proud? 
> 
> These beliefs are coming into question, both from Eugene’s words, Cass’s actions, and even Rapunzel’s continued attempts to try and make it up to him. And Varian… he wouldn’t react well to that, at all. He depends on this belief. He depends on that confidence. And thus: the arrow. It’s a comfort and a statement. And it’s a reminder to himself, too—their campfire may look awfully warm, but the press of the arrow against his leg reminds him that he doesn’t belong there with him. A counter-attack and defense, all in one.
> 
> Dammit, Varian. He makes the story more difficult for me on purpose, I’m certain of it.
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/175155170347/title-labyrinths-of-the-heart-synopsis-plagued) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts??


	4. The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, after I wrote chapter 3, I looked at the length and went “Wow! So long! Not doing that again.” And then I wrote chapter 4 and started crying because apparently I do not know the meaning of moderation. Almost 19k. Good fucking grief. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this monstrosity. It was certainly fun to write!!! Things are finally happening, hehehe….
> 
> Also, a note: I love Season 2 to bits and pieces, but I am not even going to try and keep this story canon. Because at this point, there’s no way. I’ll pick out bits of season two that I want to use, if it fits the plot I’ve already created, but if a detail in my story doesn’t 100% match with a new revelation from a recent ep, well… I can’t really keep up, y’know?? I hope you all can enjoy this original plotline regardless!!
> 
>  **Warnings for:** some cursing (mostly just mild stuff), conscious infliction of pain (also rather mild), graphic description of an injury, and blood and gore. Also, at some point in this chapter, an animal will be injured— _not_ badly, but it does happen, so just letting you know to watch out for that. As always, if there is something you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!

 

The storm rages on without end for days.

Rain lashes at the ground, pooling in the entrance of their shelter. Winds howl like wild beasts and shake furiously at the trees, sending them crashing down into the hills, some even knocking against the cave. Lightning and thunder, while less frequent, still haunt the dark and violent clouds; the booms jolt Varian awake in the dead of night, the lightning setting fires that are put out within minutes by the storm’s own unrelenting downpour.

They stay within the shelter the whole time, secure in the knowledge that any enemies will be stuck inside just as they are. At times, one or two of them will sneak out in the brief respites, when the rain is a soft drizzle and the skies are quiet, and pick up soaked branches from the ground. These they bring back to set out and dry by the heat of the campfire in loads, only feeding them to the flames when the moisture finally dries out. In this way the fire continues to burn for almost the entirety of the time, only going out in the dead of night when none of them are awake enough to notice. They spend the days alternatively amusing themselves around the cave and huddling near the wavering warmth of their fire.

It should bother him, Varian thinks, sometime on the third day, as he sits near the cave entrance and watches the downpour. It should be gloomy and terrible and awful, wet and cold. And it is those things, sometimes, especially when it is his turn to gather firewood. But it is also… _not_.

It was the battle, Varian suspects, the battle and the strange sense of peace that had followed it. The rain has not washed that feeling away—rather, it has furthered it. It has turned their laughter into something less annoying, turned their fires warmer and their faces kinder to his eyes.

Or maybe, it’s the fact he can’t make excuses anymore, can’t give himself a reason to sleep away from the fire. Maybe it’s the fact they can’t tie his handcuffs anywhere in the cave, the fact they haven’t even tried. The constant patter of rain and the flickering warmth of the fire lull him into a deep and restful sleep. Varian feels… better, here.

He isn’t sure if it’s the air or the atmosphere, or merely just the fact this is the longest they’ve stayed in one place in nearly a month. Whatever it is, Varian feels calmer here, more at rest than he has anywhere else. He almost dreads the end of the storm, because some part of him knows the peace will end with it.

Varian closes his eyes with a soft sigh, tilting his head back against the rock. By his side, Ruddiger chitters and curls by his leg, nudging at Varian’s hand. They are sitting by the cave entrance, watching the rain pound at the earth and shower off the trees, dozing in the rain-water spray. He is so close to the outside, at times the wind blows the rain straight into his face.

Varian lifts his hand and pets Ruddiger absently, combing his nails through Ruddiger’s damp fur. Another spray of raindrops in his eyes has him squinting and wishing faintly for his goggles, but the brief annoyance is not enough to move him. He feels bored and drowsy, tired but not sleepy.

Varian trails his eyes around the cave, hoping for something to catch his interest. Cassandra is sharpening her sword in long strokes, looking increasing dissatisfied with the quality, a soaked Owl perched on her shoulder. Eugene is juggling a frying pan and two lemons, looking bored, while Rapunzel is…

Varian sits up, blinking quickly, bemused by the strange sight. Across the cave, Rapunzel is piling up large flat rocks around the fire, making… well, _something_. Something that involves the fire and a concerning number of pebbles.

Whatever she’s doing, it’s no business of his. Varian sits back against his wall, trying to get comfortable again. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on listening to the rain. It is no use. The mystery nags at him, his curiosity an insatiable tug.

Varian taps his fingers against the ground, rocks his foot against the stone. He squeezes his eyes shut tight. Then he sighs, heavy with defeat, and stands with a grimace on his face. Okay. He’ll just go up and ask her, and then he’ll come back. Quick and simple, and then his curiosity can shut up and leave him in peace once more.

As he climbs to his feet, the arrow in his boot digs into his leg. Varian winces at the sting, his resolve abruptly faltering. Maybe this is a bad idea.

Except— he’s already stood up, and Ruddiger’s already climbed on his shoulders and settled there. He’ll be rattled if Varian sits back down now. Plus, the others have noticed—are watching him, from the sidelines, waiting to see what he will do.

Varian exhales loudly, annoyed with himself. He walks forward with purpose, stepping gingerly to stop the arrow from digging deeper into the skin of his leg.

Rapunzel glances up at his approach, first with a smile and startling completely upright when she sees it is _Varian._ He pretends not to notice how both Eugene and Cassandra have frozen, Eugene clutching the frying pan in a loose grip with an uncertain expression, Cassandra holding herself very still behind him, a hand on her sword. Even Ruddiger is sitting motionless on Varian’s shoulder, little claws digging into his collarbone, ringed tail brushing his face.

Varian crosses his arms and politely ignores how they all flinch at the motion, brushing away the rising irritation before he can get distracted. He is here to satisfy his curiosity, nothing more and nothing less. He doesn’t need to fear them, not for such a harmless question.

God, Varian should have just sat back down, curiosity be damned. This is such a poor idea, and for such a dumb reason, too. But it’s too late for that now.

“Princess,” Varian greets.

“…Varian,” Rapunzel returns.

He looks her up and down, eyeing the heavy rocks she’s holding with a scowl. At her feet, she has three piles—one of the large flat rocks, one of the medium ones, and the last full of small pebbles. She is stacking them on top of each other in a weird pattern. Seriously, what _is_ she doing?

“…That’s a lot of rocks,” Varian says, a bit awkwardly, and then immediately wants to slap himself. He has no idea how to talk to her. It’s taking everything he has not to insult her, but he wants answers, and he knows from experience that Rapunzel won’t react well if Varian just goes in accusing her of all her wrongs.

“Huh?” says Rapunzel, and then she blinks and laughs, so bright it creeps Varian out on principle. Who laughs like that, talking with someone they hate? “Oh! Um. I’m making an… oven, of sorts? Yes! To cook something.”

Varian surveys the set-up and sighs. He’s an idiot. Large flat rocks and pebbles—of course it’s an oven. It was such an easy answer he’d dismissed it entirely. He can see it now, in the general shape of what she’s building. But also…

“You’re doing it wrong,” he tells her shortly, gleefully taking the opportunity to rub this fault in her face. Without thinking, he reaches out to snatch the rock out of her hands. He manages to lift it maybe an inch from her hold before he falls over.

Eugene lunges forward, face white, and behind him Cassandra has stood, feet scraping against stone as she shifts her stance. But it’s Rapunzel who catches him, who doesn’t even wince, just lifts the _unbelievably_ heavy rock from Varian’s hands like it weighs nothing. She hefts it up and juggles it around to settle on her hip, before offering Varian a hand up. Her smile is small and sheepish.

Varian smacks her hand away, cheeks burning red, quietly a little stunned at her effortless strength. The thing had nearly knocked him over, and she carries it in one hand like it weighs no more than a few pounds.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, and nearly marches off then and there, but once more, curiosity nudges at him. He grits his teeth but gives in without a fight. “How are you _carrying_ that?”

Rapunzel gives him a weak smile. “Uh, eighteen years from pulling around seventy feet of hair plus one person up a tower, probably?”

Varian squints at her, reluctantly impressed, filing the information away. It could be useful, though mostly he just finds it annoying. It figures Rapunzel would be stronger than him.

“Hmm.”

He turns back to the fire before she can reply, changing the subject with ease. “Anyways, you’re doing this wrong.” He pauses, surveying the set-up, his mind building up the contraption in his mind. Like one of his old experiments and machines, only instead of metal plates and bolts he gets a pile of heavy rocks and a fire. It’s the closest he’s come to a mental exercise in… ages, actually.

Varian marches past Rapunzel and up to the rocks she has already placed, considering the arrangement one last time before placing his hand on the topmost stone. “You gotta—” He pushes against the rock, grunting from the effort. “—move this and—”

A moment of hesitation, and then Rapunzel is beside him, helping him push the rock in place. Her hair falls off one shoulder, draping over Varian’s head like a shawl. The sudden wave of gold in his face snaps him from his thoughts. Varian freezes, eyes going wide. Against his leg, the arrowhead presses painfully into his skin.

What, exactly, is Varian doing? Why is he helping her? He came here to satisfy his curiosity because he was bored, not to play nice with the one person he can’t stand above all else. So why is Varian here, helping her—acting like—

He recoils so hastily he almost trips on his chains, stumbling back away from her. Rapunzel freezes in place, peering back at him, looking startled and then slightly disappointed. Varian feels sick. There is an awful sensation shivering down his back, like bugs underneath his skin, scuttling in his veins, digging pinchers into his insides.

Varian turns from the fire, marching back to his spot by the cave entrance. Ruddiger paws at his face, and Varian shakes his head, ignoring the comfort, hating that Ruddiger thinks he needs it. “Whatever,” he says. “You need to layer the rocks and fill in the cracks with mud, otherwise it won’t work. It’s easy. Everyone knows that.” He returns to his spot, sitting so quickly his back slams hard against the wall, the rocks pressing uncomfortably against his spine.

Rapunzel’s voice is very quiet. “Thank you, Varian.”

Varian curls into a ball, bringing up his legs and turning his face away, back to the rain, feeling rattled. Ruddiger nudges at his cheek. The arrow cuts deeper into his skin, the cloth wrappings little more than scrap in the face of arrowhead’s deadly sharpness. If it digs any deeper, it will start drawing blood.

He brings down his hand and jabs his palm against his boot, pushing against the wood stem of the arrow. For a moment the irritation lessens. He draws his hand away and the prick of pain returns, and Varian squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into his knees instead.

No one talks. The silence would be deafening if not for the soothing rhythmic drum of the rain. In the quiet—absent now of Eugene’s low humming and the dull thuds of his juggling attempts, absent of the noise of sharpened swords or Maximus’s pattering hooves—the only other sound is a slow and abrupt scraping, as Rapunzel returns to moving the rocks.

Varian is terribly aware of it, every heavy footstep or rasp of moving stone echoing in his ears. He can hear every rock Rapunzel moves into position, hear the low murmur of their voices as she speaks with Eugene, the changing crackle of the fire when she lights a new flame inside the stone box oven. At every unusual sound, Varian has to resist the urge to turn around, to check on their progress.

Finally, after what feels like hours, their voices drop away, and so does the scraping. Then there is only the rain, the crackle of the fire, and the thunder shaking the trees. Varian sighs, some unnamable weight rising off his shoulders. The trembling emotion eases away, stability returning with the quiet. He lifts his head from his knees and rests his chin on his legs, closing his eyes to the soft spray of rainwater.

The world is dimming, late afternoon turning to night, the pale gray of rainy day turning to the darker gray of early evening. The cold winds pick up with increased intensity, and despite his reluctance to face the others, Varian picks himself up and moves deeper into the shelter for warmth. He won’t make Ruddiger sit in the cold just because of him.

Cassandra has already set dinner—old strips of dried meat, charred vegetables and some fruit they’d found on the last venture out of the cave. Varian takes his share with an awkward nod of thanks. He still isn’t sure where he stands with Cassandra, but he now feels uncomfortable _not_ thanking her, especially after that fight with the archer. Cassandra never really responds to this gesture, but there is a strange lack of hostility in her eyes when she hands him the food. A strange courtesy that hadn’t existed before the storm.

Varian sits back against the cave wall, close enough to the fire to avoid freezing but far enough away that he isn’t sitting with the others. He glances at the fire from the corner of his eye. The makeshift oven rests beside the crackling flames, smoking faintly as it cooks whatever’s within, designed as Varian had suggested.

He bites down hard on his food, resisting the urge to smile. He shouldn’t be happy about it. It shouldn’t mean anything. He shouldn’t have talked to Rapunzel in the first place, that traitor of a princess.

The smile doesn’t fade, and neither does the warmth.

After a while a strange smell starts to drift in the confined air of the cave, heady and fruity. It’s a nice change from the acidic smell of smoke or damp stink of dirt, and the sweet smell almost seems to float in the air, lightening the cave and chasing out the cold. Even the heavy patter of the rain seems softened, easing out into something gentler, smoother, less harsh.

Rapunzel looks pleased at the smell, glancing up and over at her oven with a secret smile. “It’s ready,” she sings out softly to the air, and walks over to it, hands clasping in front of her chest, her smile growing.

“You going to show us already or not?” Cassandra calls, and Rapunzel laughs at this, wrapping her hands in her hair and reaching out for the top of the hot stones. Using her unbreakable hair as makeshift oven gloves, she hefts up the rock and pulls it into the corner of the cave.

The strong scent of the food, already notable, seems to burst free. Fruit and spices mingling together, so strong he can almost taste the flavors. Varian cannot resist edging closer to smell it, despite his wish to ignore them, breathing in deep through his nose.

Finally, he can see what it is the princess has created. Sitting there, nestled together in the heart of her stone oven, sits a bundle of steaming cooked apples.

But no, Varian realizes, studying the treat. They are not just apples. She has cored them and mashed them and filled empty apple shells with the mix. It is seasoned with spices like nutmeg and cinnamon, and another he doesn’t know the name of, a dark wintery spice that Varian’s dad had liked to sprinkle on their drinks in the winter cold. The treats are settled in a tin of steaming water, and Rapunzel waves her hand over the heat to dispel the vapor.

“Just have to let them cool,” she announces to the cave, smiling down at her creation, “and then they’ll be ready to eat!”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow at the treats, looking interested. “Where are the apple tops?”

“I’m going to stick them back on with that bit of honey we bought a few towns back.” Rapunzel puts her hands on her hips and gives a winning smile. “Well, Cass? Think my purchases are weird _now?”_

Varian raises an eyebrow, confused. _This_ was why the princess was buying so many apples? For this treat here? But then, what is the point?

Cassandra seems to share this sentiment, because she rolls her eyes, looking fond but exasperated all the same. “Not sure it’s worth getting attacked by bandits for,” she corrects dryly, and sighs at Rapunzel’s affronted look. “But—oh, fine, yes, sure. They’re worth it.”

Rapunzel beams in victory.

They spend the next few minutes in impatient agony, waiting for the apples to cool enough to touch. When the steam has finally faded, Rapunzel leans down and carefully glues back on the apple tops with the honey, trailing her finger over the edges and placing them precariously back on top, sealing the cinnamon sweet apple mash inside. Then she lifts them out of the oven and into warm napkins, handing them over to Eugene, who wanders around the cave to pass them out. He hands one to Maximus, Pascal, and Cassandra first, setting aside two others for himself and Rapunzel. And then Eugene picks up the last, final two—and heads towards Varian.

Varian freezes at his approach, curling his fingers into Ruddiger’s fur. Part of it is merely comfort; the other part is to keep Ruddiger from lunging for the treat.

Eugene is smiling as he draws near, a strange little quirk at the side of his mouth. He holds out the apples towards Varian with one hand, close enough for the smell to make Varian’s mouth water. “Well?”

Varian swallows down his sudden hunger and pins Eugene with his best glare. “I don’t need your charity.”

Eugene blinks at this, apparently startled, and then laughs outright. “Charity? Wha—Oh no, kid, come on. This is just… it’s just food. Dessert!”

“I don’t need it,” Varian says stubbornly, struggling to pin Ruddiger still against his chest and keep his glare in place at the same time. Eugene’s brows go up at the sight, but his smile stays.

“W- _ell_ ,” he says, drawing out the word, waving the treat in Varian’s face teasingly, “if you’re not having it… I can take it off your hands! I mean. If you _really_ don’t want it…?”

Varian eyes him, irritated by the childish treatment. He clenches his jaw and doesn’t respond.

Eugene keeps his hand outstretched for another few seconds, then closes his eyes and sighs heavily. Without warning, he reaches out and presses the apple treat into Varian’s chest before Varian can think to pull away. His hands come up automatically to catch them, and Ruddiger wriggles his way free, climbing up Varian’s shirt to rest on his shoulders. His chitter is an excited stream in Varian’s ear. 

“Just eat it, kid,” Eugene says, the teasing tone gone, his smile smaller and worn. “Don’t worry. We all know how you feel about us. One little bonding moment won’t change that, yeah?”

He pulls back with an offhand wave over one shoulder, and walks off before Varian can reply.

Varian looks down at the apple, the heat of it radiating through even the thick cotton napkin. He sneaks another look up, but no one is looking over at him. They are gathered back around the fire, talking in low voices, immersed in their own little worlds.  

Varian looks back at the treat. His stomach growls, and Ruddiger whines low in his ear.

Varian sighs and puts down one of the apples, gently nudging it towards Ruddiger. His raccoon jumps down and starts munching it happily, making little pleased noises at every bite. Halfway through he stops and abruptly whips around to stare at Varian, one paw reaching out to poke him. Wide dark eyes stare imploringly up at him, as if Ruddiger is saying, in his own weird way, _Well?_

Varian winces, grimacing back, and stares uncertainly at his own apple. He runs his thumb along the curled and browning red skin of the cooked fruit. It’s warm, warm like a hearth fire or summer heat or like a soft and heavy blanket. Comforting in its heat, rather than burning.

Ruddiger pokes at him again, his own treat half-eaten at his feet. He won’t finish unless Varian does, apparently. The sentiment makes him smile and sigh in equal measure.

Varian curls up in a corner, not as far from the group as he usually is, and bites into the apple.

It is as warm and as sweet as it looks. The spices flood his mouth and overwhelm his tongue. When he swallows his mouthful, the warmth and taste remain. The heat of the treat settles like a pit of light in his stomach, warming his fingers and toes and chasing away the last vestiges of cold.

It tastes delicious.

It is, quite honestly, the best thing he has eaten in nearly a year. For some dumb reason, this is almost enough to make him cry. The lulling drum of the rain, the siren warmth of the fire, the sweet heat of the apple treat on his tongue. For a moment Varian can almost forget where he is. He can almost forget he is among enemies. He can almost ignore the pain in his leg, the arrow digging against his skin. It is as if all the pain and exhaustion from the past year—emotional and physical—has paused, if only for a moment.

Something has eased. Some tension has finally broken. A truce finally reached, at least for now, in the rain and by the fire.

Perhaps it is a betrayal. Perhaps not. But for now, maybe Varian can play nice. Maybe he can enjoy the fire. The rain will soon pass after all, and with it, times like these. For once, just this once… maybe Varian can pretend.

Varian smiles against the treat, the dessert a burning warmth against the curl of his lips, his laughter hidden behind his hand. And for this one moment, it stays there. Lingering, fleeting, fading—but real.

-

Over the next two days, the storm slowly eases away, the roiling clouds and endless downpour moving on to new lands. After nearly a week trapped in the cave, it feels almost odd to walk out and re-saddle the horses, to stretch their legs and wake up to sunlight. Day once more looks like _day_ again, bright and golden and sunny, the heat of the late summer turning the humid air hot and sticky. The ground squishes beneath their boots, the grass dewy and leaves wet, the lingering raindrops falling indiscriminately down on their heads. The trees glisten in the sun, the winds soft and sweet, the whole world scrubbed clean from the long showers.

Of course, not everything is all that nice or pretty. As they begin their slow trek through the woods, searching for the black rocks, Varian spies burned patches of earth and trees split in two, charred black by lightning. Fallen trees and harsh winds have blown broken branches and a coat of leaves all over the forest floor, and it’s unlikely they’d have found the stone path as quickly as they do, if not for Cassandra’s quick eye and Maximus’s nose.

Varian eyes the stone path critically and kicks at it with his boot, sending the wet leaves flying and mud splattering up his leg. Before him, Eugene is settling Maximus, Cassandra helping Rapunzel up into Fidella’s saddle.

“Are we going to be able to follow it?” he asks, eyeing the disguised forest floor suspiciously. “If the leaves cover too much…”

“Ehh, Max’ll find it, if that happens,” Eugene says, and sighs through his nose, shaking his head down at the path. “But wow! What a storm, huh? I haven’t been in a squall that bad since… well, ever, actually.” He frowns at the sky, squinting into the glaring sunlight. “We’re lucky we stopped when we did.”

Varian rolls his eyes, slipping a few leftover nuts and apples into his saddlebag, and absently batting Ruddiger away from them. “You mean most storms _don’t_ last a whole week? Consider me surprised.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eugene sighs. “Man, you’re a real stick-in-the-mud. Anyway!” he adds, when Varian snaps his head up with a glare. “I really mean it. Storms like that? They… aren’t too common.” He frowns absently at the road, brow creased with thought. “I hope it’s not a bad omen.”

“If you’re looking for assurance, you aren’t getting any from _me,”_ Varian says coolly, and shoves Ruddiger away from the pack. “Gah, Ruddiger, leave it be! You can eat the apples later!”

He pulls Ruddiger off the saddle bag and settles him firmly under one arm, trying to figure out how to get on the saddle without dropping both raccoon or iron ball, when Eugene’s cackling laughter stops him cold.

“Quite right!” Eugene says, grinning down at Varian like he’s made a fantastic joke. Before Varian can respond, Eugene reaches down and lifts Varian up into the saddle with a grunt.

Varian slides precariously on his seat, scrambling for a solid grip. Ruddiger wriggles free from under his arm and scurries onto his shoulder in the commotion. “Would you stop that!?” Varian demands, cheeks flushing red, steadying himself on the horse. The horse laughs at him. Varian glares down at the blond mane and digs his heel into the Maximus’s flank with gusto. The horse doesn’t even flinch.

Of course it doesn’t.

Eugene just cackles again. “Sure, sure.”

Varian gives him a nasty look over his shoulder. “Leave the heavy lifting to Cassandra,” he says, a little spiteful. “She’s stronger than you are.”

“What, are you saying carrying you is _hard?_ Kid, you’d weigh less than a sack of coin if not for that ball-and-chain, it’s honestly a bit concerning—”

“I’m  _saying—_ ”

“Guys, please,” Cassandra calls over to them, neatly cutting off their argument. She sounds exasperated. “You can bicker later, okay? We’re going _now.”_

Eugene turns his eyes to her, grinning wide. “It’s all in good fun, _Cassandra._ Not that you’d know what that is, of course!”

Rapunzel stifles a laugh into her sleeve, glancing back with a grin. Cassandra just rolls her eyes and yanks on Fidella’s reins to start down the path. The horse’s hooves strike hard against the stone. “Good fun can wait until we’re on the road,” she says dryly. “Or would you like to have _another_ run-in with those bandits?”

“No, no, all good.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Varian is barely listening. The noise and banter drift over him, his mind elsewhere, stuck minutes ago on what Cassandra had said. Because— _bickering?_ Is that what they had been doing? It sounds too… friendly, to him.  

Varian casts his mind back, searches his memory, replays conversations in his head. Something cold runs down his spine, makes his hands go clammy and his breaths short. Because— _bickering_ , she had said, and looking back… she wasn’t wrong.

 _Where did it go?_ Varian thinks, lightheaded and suddenly dizzy, as if his stomach has dropped to his knees. He feels hollow and washed-out, struck dumb by the realization. His venom, his hatred—when did it lose its bite, when did it become something easily brushed off? When did—when did it become something lackluster? Something Varian did because he was used to it, rather than because he believed it?

 _One bonding moment won’t change that,_ Eugene had said, back in the cave, two days ago. But it hasn’t just been one moment, has it? Varian had helped Rapunzel with the oven, he fought with them against the bandits, he—even in the town, over a week ago, when he saw the Princess’s hood was down, his first thought had been to protect their safety and her identity.

They are not my friends, Varian tells himself, but it sounds like an excuse even to him, like an attempt at convincing himself of something he doesn’t truly believe. Even the hard press of the arrow against his leg cannot bring back the confidence he once had in this truth. At some point in this journey, at some point in the past month, his hatred has waned, eaten away by exhaustion and his own doubts.

It shouldn’t hit him this hard, but for some reason this realization—this change, this faltering in his mindset and thoughts and feelings—it scares him. It terrifies him utterly, this idea that he has lost control of his own emotions so completely. That he is weak enough to miss being their friend.

Guilt coils like a snake in his gut.

If Varian cares, then… that’s a weakness. That’s _unacceptable_. The others don’t really care about him, is the thing, and so if Varian is the first to care, then—then that means he loses. That means he is _weak,_ he’s failed. Dad wouldn’t be proud of failures. And losing sight of his goal—of himself—of where he stands with them…

Varian reaches down, rubs at his leg, presses the arrowhead hard against his skin. The pain makes his face twitch and teeth grit, but he holds steady. _This is necessary,_ Varian reminds himself. This arrow, the fact he has it—it is proof he does not belong here. That he is not their friend. That Varian is dangerous, that he is treated as though he is dangerous. That these people, no matter how warm their fire or how soft they pretend to smile—these same people betrayed him once.

They laughed then, too. They smiled then, too. And they turned on him without a second thought. To lose sight of that truth is _stupid._

The fact he must remind himself at all—the fact he needs the arrow, this pain, this uncomfortable aide—that terrifies him too.

Only a month, and yet Varian is already faltering. He is losing himself here, drowning in his own exhaustion. No one can hate forever. It was easy, back in Old Corona, because there Varian could dwell on other things, work on projects or play with Ruddiger. He didn’t have to spend every waking moment reminding himself to be angry, didn’t have to hate every second of the day.

Here, however, on the road… Rapunzel, Eugene, Cassandra—they are here, always, constantly around him, forever in sight and forever in mind. He cannot forget them, he can’t slip—and yet, he can’t _help_ it.

No one can be angry for that long, no one can be angry every second of the day. Varian is trying, and it is killing him. It won’t let him sleep, it won’t let him rest. It’s not a betrayal if he slips, is it? It’s not a betrayal if he laughs, if he forgets himself and smiles back. Is it?

He isn’t sure. Perhaps Cassandra had the right of it, all along; maybe Varian doesn’t know himself. Too many doubts and too much exhaustion and too many thoughts in his head, thoughts like “Listen,” and “But they didn’t listen to me,” and “Not my fault,” and “Not theirs either,” and a question swirling forever in his mind— “Then whose?”

He is falling to pieces, and the thing is, no one seems to notice. He almost hopes they never do. He fears the loss of their kindness almost as much as he hates them for giving it.

Even his words are losing their bite. Cassandra rolls her eyes more often than not, and Eugene makes a joke of it—only Rapunzel, Varian thinks, only Rapunzel still flinches at the things he says. But Rapunzel avoids him, keeps her distance, and it infuriates him because even then, he is starting to get used to that too. To ignoring her back, to returning the courtesy, as if they have an unspoken truce to leave each other alone. As if they too might become allies, instead of the enemies they should be.

What Rapunzel has done is unforgivable. It is her fault, all of it, and the fact he has forgotten that for even a moment…

Varian has underestimated the effect of the road. Long travel is hard, and frustrating, and sleepless. But it is also—it ties them all together, somehow, no matter how much Varian might wish otherwise. Varian knows things now, things like: Rapunzel doesn’t like lemonade but loves sweet tea; Eugene never brushes his hair, only combs; Cassandra is a master at chess but terrible at baking.

And they know him, too.

You cannot help but hate people, traveling with them on the road; you cannot help but know them, together every day for weeks on end.

Varian presses his hand against his leg, the arrowhead digging into his skin. He won’t forget, he swears to himself. He won’t forget whose fault it is, he won’t forget what they… what _Rapunzel_ has done. Never mind Eugene. Never mind Cassandra. He can—he can consider them later. Rapunzel—Varian is not wrong about Rapunzel. She cannot assuage him with words or apologies; especially when she has offered neither. She is safely at fault, she is safe to hate.

Varian will not forget again.

Barely a minute after this quiet vow, a shrill screech in the air jolts Varian from his thoughts.

His head lifts in surprise, eyes squinting in the sudden glare of the sun. In what feels like only moments but in reality, must have been hours, the early morning day has turned to the midday heat, the sun hanging high and heavy in the sky. The air steams around them.

In the bright glow, Owl is a strange sight—a clearly overheated owl fluttering through the branches, resting on Cassandra’s outstretched arm with a huff, fluffing up feathers in a clear sign of irritation. He screeches once, twice, and then a third time, flapping his wings before finally lifting off again into the branches.

Varian watches the bird’s flight until he cannot see it anymore against the leafy backdrop of green, then turns to his eyes to Cassandra.

Cassandra’s face is pinched tight with frustration and worry. Her narrow eyes stare out ahead of them, glaring into the distance. Her lips are pulled back in a snarl, all of her teeth showing.

Rapunzel touches her arm, her earlier smile gone. “Cass?”

Her jaw works in silence, and then finally Cassandra sighs, tension easing from her shoulders. “There’s a group ahead. A _big_ group. Probably friends of the bandits we beat off last week.” She grimaces. “Apparently the storm didn’t stop the word from spreading.”

Rapunzel looks pale. “They… they might not be bandits? I, I mean, you never know…”

“Maybe not,” Cassandra agrees, though she doesn’t sound like she really believes it. “But its… a lot of people. Even if they aren’t a part of the bandit group—” She cuts herself off, shrugs helplessly.

“We don’t want to run into them,” Eugene says, with an agreeing nod. He sighs. “Ahh, man! We knew they were behind us, but… ahead? Now that’s just unfair.”

“We don’t know for sure they’re following behind us,” Cassandra offers, though she looks reluctant to suggest such a thing. “We could… _ergh_ … go back…?”

Varian scowls at the idea. Rapunzel winces and Eugene shakes his head. In this alone, the four are united. After this long journey, after having traveled this far through the hills, mountains, forests, and desserts on bare horseback—the last thing any of them want is to go back.

“We could fight…?” Rapunzel offers, but Cassandra shakes her head before the princess can even finish talking.

“It was hard enough with three—” She pauses, eyes flickering to Varian, then amends, “ _four_ against eleven. This? Owl wasn’t sure, but… there’s a lot more ahead of us. Twenty at _least._ Likely more than that. With only us few, against that many…?” Cassandra grits her teeth. “I’m good, Raps. But _that_ good?”

Uneasy glances cast all around. Varian looks down at the saddle, running his hand down Ruddiger’s back to calm him, his poor raccoon looking steadily more nervous as the conversation continues. Varian picks at a loose thread in the saddle and drops his gaze to the stone path below them, trailing his eyes to the side. What a plain part of the woods they have found themselves trapped in. There is nothing around them but the various spikes of black rock, the looming trees, and the small cluster of boulders a little way off the path.

He almost moves on, but something—maybe the shape of it, or the color—something stands out to him, sets off an alarm in the corner of his mind, tells his brain, _no, look again._

An alchemist thrives on details. Varian looks again.

It’s a rock. Gray stone, crumbling, like a broken piece… Varian stills. He watches the rock for a long moment, feeling caught, letting the conversation wash over him. Ruddiger croons low in worry, still nestled in Varian’s arms.

It’s not breaking his vow, if he helps them. He doesn’t even know if he’s right. But—it’s not breaking that oath. If they go down, he goes down too. Ruddiger will get hurt. If he helps them, from here on out—it is because he must.

Choice made, his guilt appeased, Varian slides off the horse.

“Varian?”

He ignores Eugene, settling the iron ball against his hip and lifting Ruddiger to his shoulder as he approaches the rock. It’s a bit off the way, a few paces from the stone path, half-hidden in a bush and covered in dirt.

Varian sets down the iron ball and crouches by the stone. He brushes off some of the dust and rolls the debris between his fingers, trailing his hands down the rock. It is pitted from rain and weather, but the shape is too unnatural to be anything else.

“Maybe we don’t need to go back,” he says finally, slowly, deep in thought. “Or fight. What if… what if we took a detour?”

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra asks, sounding confused.

Varian steps back from the rock, sweeping out his one free hand at the stone in answer. “That’s not a boulder,” he says, certain in this assessment. “That’s limestone. And its—carved. It wasn’t formed naturally. ‘Course, its old, so most of its shape has been lost, but…” He points into the brush. “I have a feeling it’s not alone.”

Someone jumps off one of the horses, and Varian casts a side eye beside him, half-expecting to see either Eugene or Cassandra. The sight of Rapunzel makes him go cold. He stiffens at her approach, shying away from her.

Rapunzel doesn’t seem to notice or care about his reaction. She squints off into the distance, where Varian was facing, then gasps and points out into the trees. “Oh!”

She makes to grab at Varian’s shoulder and he ducks out of the way just in time, his skin crawling. Rapunzel pauses, green eyes flickering to him and then away just as quickly, hands rising to point back out at the gloom. “Look, look!” she says, as if the mishap hadn’t happened. Her voice is only a little strained. “Those rocks over there, in the hills—tilt your head! They’re not boulders! Varian was right, they’re—”

“Houses,” Eugene says, sounding stunned. “They look like houses. Err, skeletons of houses?”

“Ruins,” Cassandra murmurs, sounding impressed. “I had no idea there was any out here.  The maps or history books never mentioned a city here. And they’re old, too—weathered. How long does it take for rain to eat through stone like that?”

“Centuries,” Varian says.

Eugene gives a low whistle. “ _Well_.” He looks around at their group, both eyebrows arched, a grin on his face. “Gotta say, I like the idea of hiding out in some old ruins _a lot_ more than going back the way we came.”

“We don’t know if there’s anywhere big enough to provide shelter,” Cassandra warns. “This could just be a waste of time. Time we _can’t_ afford to lose, remember?”

“If there’s not enough ruins worth exploring, then we just keep going,” Rapunzel says, sounding unbothered. “Max is the best tracker, right? We’ll keep following the path, just… a few miles to the side of it, is all. Out of sight! If we’re careful, maybe that group will miss us entirely!”

“Risky,” Cassandra mutters, but she doesn’t look nearly as against it anymore. She looks excited, near thrilled at the possibility of an adventure. “Hmmph. Well, it’s not like we have a better option.” She raises both eyebrows at Maximus, trying and failing to hide her own eagerness. “Well, Max? Think you can follow the path even a few miles away, if it comes to that?”

Maximus blows out an offended huff and stamps his hooves. Cassandra grins.

“That’s a yes!” Rapunzel cheers, and gives Varian a blinding smile. “Thanks, Varian.”

He stares back, frozen stiff, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Rapunzel doesn’t wait for an answer—just walks on into the brush, leaving the path behind her, already looking ahead at the distant ruins.

Ruddiger pats at Varian’s cheek, tail tickling his ear. Varian takes a breath, rolls his eyes, and goes to sit in Maximus’s saddle. _Rapunzel_ can trope around all she likes. There’s no way Varian’s walking who-know-how-many miles with the iron ball. He’s taking the horse, thanks.

Still. Doubts or not, angry and tired and uncertain—at least, Varian thinks, casting a glance back at the path, he won’t be bored.

Who knows? Maybe these ruins are by the path of black rocks for a reason. Maybe there are new mysteries to discover, new marvels to find. The automatons had been buried beneath the castle, after all, protecting the royal vault and the Sundrop flower. And these ruins… they are so much older than even the castle. Whatever mysteries might lie here, they have been lost for millennium… just waiting to be found.

If nothing else, he can hope. Varian could use the distraction.

-

It takes them three hours of walking to find the bulk of the ruins.

Rapunzel barely notices the lost time. There is, quite frankly, too much to see and too much to find for her to spare a second thought to how deep they are traveling, to how far they have gone. The ruins—they are a mystery. And Rapunzel has always loved mysteries.

They are also a distraction of the best kind, one Rapunzel has needed for a while now. And oh, they do not disappoint. She has the growing sense that these ruins have been hidden from the world for years, untouched by human eyes for centuries. They are far from even the magical-made path of black rocks, nestled deep into a sparse wood that slowly ebbs into something tall and great.

Here, the trees are as tall as towers, with trunks as wide as fire pits and thick bristles of leaves so dark and dense that even the afternoon sun cannot pierce through its cover, the midday light turned shadowed and mystical in this new realm. The forest floor is uncharted and unknown—no path lies out for them to follow, just roots and leaves and thick unyielding brush, grown large and wild after centuries of abandonment. Only the ruins lead them onward—a makeshift path of broken stone, once great houses and halls turned to empty husks, their sharp corners softened with pale green moss and their carved designs worn away by rain and wind. When Rapunzel brushes her hand against one, the stone is soft as chalk beneath her fingers, pitted and crumbling from age and weather.

She can hardly dare to breathe here, let alone speak. The air, the ruins, even the trees— this whole world, it is so old, so steeped in history and mystery that she finds herself breathless just looking at it. She knows she is not alone in this feeling. Eugene, forever making jokes, is for once tongue-tied at the sight. Cassandra is wide-eyed in childish wonder, craning her neck slightly to look around. Even Varian cannot fake being unaffected—his quiet is more awed than sullen, his face alight with curiosity and interest as he peers around them.

After ages of wandering, they finally reach the main cluster of the lost city—what must have once been the city’s main square, surrounded by formless houses. The roads are near useless—trees and bushes growing boldly in the center of the once-walkways—but they are still a path, one their group follows eagerly to the end. Standing tall in the center of the forgotten city, where all the roads intersect, is the great base of a stone building, tall and circular, like a castle or tower.

The great stone structure has long since fallen to disarray, consumed by the roots and branches of the trees, it’s windows eaten away by vines and its once-white arches turned pale green with vegetation. When Rapunzel walks inside, mossy cobblestone greets her bare toes. She is surrounded by crumbling walls and staircases, and above her rests half of what once must have been a magnificent domed roof.

“ _Oh_ ,” Rapunzel breathes, enchanted by the sight. She races closer, feet just barely skimming the stone, to stand beneath the half-dome with wide eyes. She leans back, rolling on her heels, craning her neck to peer up at it. “Oh, its— Eugene, Eugene, come look! There’s paint left on the ceiling! I think… I think it’s charting the sky!”

Eugene laughs at her excitement, follows her willingly. “I see it, Blondie.”

She tilts her head to grin at him, delighted by her find. Off to the side, Cassandra has disembarked from Fidella, fiddling with the saddlebag and pretending poorly that she isn’t as awed as they are. Varian too has finally slid off Maximus’s saddle, standing uncertainly on the cobblestone, tapping at it with his foot and frowning thoughtfully at the floor. As Rapunzel watches, he sweeps his leg out in a circle, tapping it gingerly, before finally settling his weight on it with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d be careful,” he calls out, sounding distracted. “The rain hit here, too. The dirt’s all soft, without the sun to dry it.”

Rapunzel blinks, pleasantly surprised by his helpfulness, and Eugene gives a grin. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Varian grunts in vague agreement and goes back to scouring the ruins.

Eugene turns back to Rapunzel. His hand touches gently at the base of her spine, making her jump. “Well, Blondie? You were saying?”

“Oh!” She turns back to the ceiling, pointing excitedly up at the dome. “See here! The stars and moon and— that star there, it’s part of the Orion—oh, its faded a bit, but—and here!”

“Like in your tower?”

“Yes! And oh, here—see that, its— oh, there’s so much!” She sweeps out her hands, twirling on her toes to take it all in. “I wonder if this was an observatory?”

“Can’t be,” Cassandra disagrees, coming up behind them. “Look at the placement, the design. It’s more like a castle, or the base of a great house or—” She hesitates, just briefly, then continues, “Even a tower, maybe.”

“It’s beautiful,” Rapunzel sighs, fingers itching to draw it all. “Do you think—”

Just then, a sharp yelp of surprise cuts her off, and the ground shakes beneath their feet. A puff of dust bursts into the air, accompanied by the terrifying sound of breaking stone.

They all turn, frantic, ice crawling down Rapunzel’s spine. She knows that voice.

“Varian!” She can’t see him—he’s vanished, gone without a trace. “ _Varian!”_

There’s no answer, but beside her, Cassandra sucks in a sharp breath and darts forward.

“Cass—!”

“Here,” she says tersely. She stops in the center of the room, hesitates, then reluctantly draws away and stops Rapunzel from coming too close. “He fell through the floor—there, by the wall. Careful! It might still crumble.”

“He fell through the— _how?_ ” Eugene asks, sounding freaked. “It should be solid dirt down there! The rain can’t have softened the ground _that_ much!” He edges closer to the broken part of the floor, leaning by the edge, face pale. “Oi, kid! You okay down there?”

There is a terrible moment of silence, and then a weak groan filters back. Rapunzel gasps for air, one hand over her heart, trembling with relief.

“Stop yelling,” Varian complains, voice strained and echoing strangely. “You’re all too loud.”

Rapunzel leans in to get a better look, peering down into the small hole. Pebbles crumble from the edge at her touch. “Are you alright?” she asks, hesitant. Down below, face smeared with dirt and maybe a little blood, eyes squinting up at them, Varian looks dirty and a little stunned, but none the worse for wear. “What happened?”

“The floor gave way, what else?” Varian grumbles back, rubbing at his head. He’s maybe fifteen feet below them, sprawled out on dark reflective stone. Beside him, the iron ball is near invisible in the darkness. “The chains probably weighed me down. I was too heavy.” He sighs, rubbing at his hair—and then he freezes.

“Varian?”

“A light,” he says suddenly, and Eugene yelps in alarm.

“Don’t go towards it!”

“Wha—not like that! I _need_ a light, hurry up, get down here!”

“We need to get you up, not fall down with you,” Cassandra says, sounding skeptical, and Varian makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“It’s a room!” he shouts back, irritation in every word. “I found. A. Secret. _Room_. It’s not some random pothole, I think— hurry, hurry, get a light already!”

Cassandra and Eugene both hesitate, but Rapunzel flies up to her feet and rushes back to Maximus, snatching up a lantern and match from her saddlebag. She hurries back, leaning over the hole. “Is it safe to jump?”

“You want to—” Varian starts, looking confused, and then the words register and he scurries out of the way, eyes wide. Rapunzel laughs and swings herself down into the hole, landing hard on the bottom. Beneath her feet, the floor is as hard and as smooth as marble—cracked with age but still recognizable to her toes. Cassandra and Eugene follow only seconds behind her.

She looks around at them, holding up the lamp with a secret smile. “Ready?”

Eugene and Cassandra grin back, teeth a pale gleam in the darkness. Varian just glares. “Light it already!”

“Right, sorry!” Rapunzel strikes the match against her belt and carefully lights the lamp wick. Shaking out the match flame with one hand, Rapunzel lifts her lantern into the air, the faint glow growing stronger and bolder once the flame catches on the oil.

Varian had been right. It is a room—more than that, it is a room as big as the building above their heads, circular and air-tight, the marble walls untouched by the outside world, the air musty and filled with dust. Circular stone benches create a half-moon circle, an altar of sorts, facing a side wall. The whole of the room is carved of stone—colorless floors like a mirror and gleaming black benches, looming pillars and walls as black as pitch, reflective and shining. It must have been beautiful once, years ago without the cobwebs and dust and darkness, the empty torch-holders and moth-eaten scraps of fabric.

Hardly daring to breathe, Rapunzel turns in a wide circle, holding up her arm higher to try and expand the light. She walks carefully towards the raised half-circle benches, leaving deep and dark footprints in the heavy layers of dust. She stands before them, studies them, turns to the wall they are facing.

Her breath catches. Behind her, Cassandra cries out in surprise, Eugene’s low whistle echoing in the empty room. Varian is absolutely silent.

It is a mural, of sorts, but unlike the chipped star chart from outside, this is a mural that has lasted untouched for all the years it has been hidden. It is made of soft gold and silver sheets, metal shaped by a loving hand, embedded deep into the dark wall. Her lantern catches on the image, illuminating it, creating an unearthly shine—a glittering gold sun and a soft silver moon, polished like a mirror, overlapping each other. Beneath the intertwined Sun-and-Moon, three lines of text are etched into the wall, written in a language Rapunzel does not know.

Rapunzel reaches out, fingers brushing the ancient words, the faded symbols and short sentences. The alien text niggles at the corner of her mind, needles at her memory. As if in a trance, she reaches slowly for her satchel, handing the lantern to Eugene.

“Blondie?”

“One moment,” she replies, hushed, and draws out the graphtyc. She can hear the sharp intake of breath from Varian at the sight of the torn scroll, and she unrolls it carefully, gentle with the ancient parchment. She holds it up to the light, lantern glow catching on the inked words, unreadable to her eyes. It is a mirror to the words on the wall.

Rapunzel lets her hands fall, a tremble starting in her fingers. “It’s a match,” she whispers, voicing aloud what they are all thinking. “It’s the same language.”

“The same…” Varian murmurs, and Rapunzel whirls to him, excitement bubbling in her gut.

“Can you translate it?” she asks, almost babbling in her excitement, forgetting momentarily who, exactly, she is talking to. “I mean, you said you could decipher the graphtyc, so—”

Varian leans away from her, looking uneasy, but his eyes drift back to the text under the mural. “I… I mean, I… maybe? I remember most of the words, but… it’ll take time.”

“How long?” Cassandra asks, eyes shrewd.

Varian shrugs, hands open at his sides, looking helpless. “How should I know? A few days, a week?”

“It’s three lines of text!” Cassandra says, incredulous.

“Yeah, and it’s in a _dead language_ ,” Varian snaps back. “I had help reading the scroll! I only know a few words by heart, and I mean, I remember a bit of the rules for the written symbols but—” He trails off and shakes his head, frustrated. “All I’ve got is my memory,” he says finally. “It’ll take a while.”

“You had help?” Rapunzel repeats, surprised by the admission. “From who?”

“Who? Nobody,” Varian says, sounding oddly sour. He doesn’t look at them, keeping his eyes on the sun-and-moon symbol in the wall. “I found the graphtyc and a book in… in my Dad’s room. The book was about those symbols.” He gestures at the text. “But that—that was… months ago.”

Rapunzel bites her lip, glancing between Varian and the mural. She turns to Eugene, staring up at his face, searching his eyes. Asking a silent question.

Eugene looks back, expression blank, and then his face creases in a smile, warm and fond. He gives a faint nod, appearing weary but not against it. Her lover, her friend—and her shield, always. It aches to have to do this, but Varian will never accept Rapunzel’s aide. And it doesn’t feel right to leave him here in this room alone.

“Eugene can help you,” Rapunzel says, firm and decisive. She looks away from Eugene with reluctance, glancing back to Varian. “He knows a lot of languages, so he might be able to help. Is—” She hesitates. “Is that all right?”

Varian’s eyes narrow. “No,” he says coldly. “It’s not ‘all right.’ I can do this on my own.”

Rapunzel pauses, unwilling to just leave him be. “He could be of use…” she pushes, uncertain if this is the right argument to use. Eugene squeezes her shoulder in comfort.

“Blondie’s right,” he says, voice bright. “Romance languages, across-the-seas languages, Lance’s made-up languages…” He grins, winking at Varian. “I know them all!” Conspiratorially, to Cassandra, he adds in a not-quite-whisper, “Those places have stuff to steal too, you know.”

Varian doesn’t seem to find any humor in it. His face goes dark, hands fisting at his sides as he glares at Rapunzel. “Why ask my opinion if you don’t want it?” he says unkindly, and laughs when Rapunzel tries to respond. “Don’t bother, _Princess_. I know you don’t want to leave me unsupervised.” He turns to the text, clear dismissal in his voice and the taut line of his shoulders. “Go do… whatever, I guess. I’m going to start translating.”

Rapunzel pulls away, guilt twisting in her gut. “Okay,” she says quietly, feeling lost and strangely disjointed at the sudden absence of Varian’s strange goodwill. She hesitates, unsure if she should apologize, or maybe try to explain herself—but across the room Cassandra catches her eye and shakes her head.

Rapunzel heeds her warning, subsiding with a quiet sigh. She turns and pecks Eugene on the cheek, taking his answering hug gratefully, and then turns back to the entrance of the hole. “Um, Cass, would you—?”

“’Course, Raps.”

Cassandra helps her up through hole, back to the open air. They go together to set up camp, leaving Eugene and Varian behind, left into the lantern-lit dark of the secret room.

-

Days pass without any change.

The earth dries solid and firm under Rapunzel’s feet. The last remnants of the week-long storm are finally beaten by the unrelenting shine of the sun, burning as hot and as bright as ever, as if to make up for the previous lack. Cassandra and Maximus stalk the perimeter of their new camp, making at least one trip per day to check on the movement of the oncoming bandit groups. By the third day, the large group Cassandra had worried so much about them passes them by without incident. On the fifth, Owl flies back with reports of fighting, a few miles down from where they had split from the path.

Their fears have been confirmed, at least in part. They _had_ been followed from behind. The groups, however, must not have been on the same side, because their collision is bloody and brutal. If they had gone back, or continued forward… Rapunzel is not sure what would have happened.

“We should stay here another few days,” Cassandra had said, when Rapunzel expressed her worry. “If we’re lucky, they’ll have wiped each other out and moved on.”

In other words—they need to wait, which is no problem. They are still no closer to translating the mural. Eugene and Varian have spent days in that dusty and dark room, struggling to solve the puzzle of the carving. Eugene’s been complaining of eye strain. Varian hasn’t complained at all, but his mood is sour, bitter with frustration and exhaustion. He is, strangely enough, the best behaved at those times—dark-eyed and glaring, but he does nothing of note, just takes his food listlessly and drops off to a restless sleep almost as soon as he can. They’ve “forgotten” to put on his handcuffs at night for a few times now, if only to help him get more sleep.

While the others busy themselves with translations and border patrol, Rapunzel explores.

Book and pen in one hand, and her lantern in another, Rapunzel and Pascal travel the empty halls of the forgotten city. She climbs up ruined staircases, looks through worn and weathered windows, sketches out the roads and structures in her journal.

She finds nothing on par with the carving, but slowly yet surely, the city begins to map itself across her mind. Six towers to mark the perimeter of the city, with one great tower in the center, where their group is now camping—eons ago, the hidden room would have been this tower’s basement. A castle, there, in that distant hillside, overgrown gardens and sloping houses surrounding it. A main street in this section, a row of shops in another.

All rubble, now, but some traces of the lives once lived still remain. Shiny green stones inlaid on the richer streets. Paintings, their color so faded it is near impossible to tell what they are of, decorating the walls and arches. A carved wood bowl, and a stone device that may have once been a toy. A moth-eaten cloak, so worn it is practically tatters, that reminds Rapunzel uncomfortably of Mother Gothel’s favorite dark cowl. That door, she closes quickly.

Strangest of all her findings is the symbol she finds in one of the towers. It is the most intact of the six smaller towers, lacking only a roof, one side consumed by the trunk of a great tree. Rapunzel starts that exploration with gusto, climbing the staircase and entering the room with a grin. She spins around the small room, stepping over the debris on automatic. Her mind maps out the floor—a staircase there, an upper floor there, and on the walls she can still see indentations where wooden support beams once stood.

It is only when she turns, automatically, to an empty hole she _knows_ should be a window, that Rapunzel realizes it.

This strange ruin of a tower, eaten away by time, centuries old… is nearly an exact mirror of _her_ tower. Her old home. Her old prison. Rapunzel’s tower— _Gothel’s_ tower.

It takes all she has not to drop her lantern.

Panic overwhelms her. She whirls on her heel, dust flying up, facing where, in another tower and another life, a fireplace and mantle once stood. There are no paintings here, no broken mirror, no dusty curtains or small herbal plants. Just blank and dead walls, a symbol above the mantle, debris on the tower floor. A different tower, and yet—similar. Too close for comfort.

Rapunzel flees that tower with her heart in her throat. For hours after she paces in the ruins, mind whirling, breathless with old fear. She almost seeks out Eugene, to tell him of her find, but… Rapunzel doesn’t want to distract him.

She sits in the rubble and maps out the city instead. She draws until her hands shake from exhaustion rather than fear, draws until she doubts her own conclusions.

Surely the towers are not the same. Rapunzel is being ridiculous. Perhaps all towers just share the same basic design—or maybe it is her mind playing tricks, applying her memory and trauma to the blank canvas of the ruin.

She must have been wrong, Rapunzel tells herself. In fact, of course she was wrong. What a silly thought that was. She pushes the fear and unease back where it belongs, and once her bravery returns, gathers her courage and draws the symbol she’d found above the mantle—the one part of this tower that is worth noting.

In another tower, she had painted a picture there, one of herself sitting in the trees, looking at lanterns. In this one, a symbol—plain, yet clearly important, the one carving left intact.

It is strangely basic, Rapunzel thinks, looking down at her journal. A circle with three—or is it four? —lines cutting across it. Like a comet, or a ball in motion. She sketches it out in her journal a few times to get a feel for it, humming quietly under her breath. It must have been this city’s crest, Rapunzel decides, looking at it critically, pushing back the memory of the tower.

She wonders, a bit sadly, what it might mean. There is no one left who knows, and it strikes her abruptly as rather lonely—so many lives that once traveled this lost place, so many people who must have called it home. So many stories, so many journeys. All of them lost to time.

She leaves her explorations with a heavier heart each day that passes. She doesn’t go to the tower again.

Finally, nine days after they have found and settled into the ruins, after the danger of the bandit groups has faded, and Rapunzel has mapped out a sketch of all the ruins she has traveled— _finally,_ one early morning, as their breakfast is still cooking on the fire, Eugene comes bursting out of the hidden room with wild eyes and a grin as wide and as manic as a clown’s.

“We’ve got it!” he yells out, scrambling up to Rapunzel. He sweeps her off the stone and up into the air, twirling her around and around with an enthusiastic laugh. “Oh, finally! _Finally!_ After days of staring at that damn thing, the kid’s finally finished it!”

Rapunzel blinks down at Eugene, startled from her momentary relocation into the air, then beams and flings her arms around him when his words register. “Really?!”

“All done!” Eugene crows in confirmation, and spins her around again. “Oh, _Mama!_ I never want to see the written word again!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Rapunzel says, giddiness fluttering up in her heart. She runs her fingers through Eugene’s dusty hair and kisses him flush on the mouth, her feet kicking back into the air. When she pulls away they are both gasping for breath, red-cheeked and smiling. “I can’t believe it! That’s _wonderful_!”

Eugene cackles, lingering heat in his cheeks and in his smile, and twirls Rapunzel around one last time before setting her back down on the stone. “Want to see?” he asks eagerly, and then turns and gestures to Cassandra. “You should come too, make this an occasion!”

“Please don’t,” Varian says, poking his head up from the room. “The thousand-year-old air is stale enough in here with just _two_ people.”

“What, you want to shout it out from the hole, then?”

Varian scowls at them, eyes on Rapunzel. “Fine,” he says. “But if I start hyperventilating because you lot took all the oxygen, I’m taking one of you down with me.” He drops back into the hole before any of them can reply.

Rapunzel hesitates, uncertain—Varian had said it like a joke, but there had been real ugliness in his eyes—but Eugene just huffs a laugh. “Nicest he’s been all week,” he murmurs to her with a knowing smile, and leads Rapunzel and Cassandra down into the secret room.

The room looks no different than it did when she first saw it, though now there are graphite smudges and loose notebook papers on the floor, sketching out a translation key to the lost language. She glances at them, vaguely interested at the clash in handwriting. From what she can tell, they’ve been collaborating Varian’s memory on the text with Eugene’s knowledge of foreign languages with similar roots. Beyond that, though, the papers are a mess of words and symbols Rapunzel cannot even begin to understand.

“Okay,” says Varian, already standing by the wall. He shuffles on his heels, looking impatient. “You’re all here, that’s fantastic, can we translate the damn thing?”

“No one’s stopping you,” Cassandra says dryly.

Varian rolls his eyes, but dutifully shuffles the papers in his hands, leaning close to the walls. “Language is _not_ my thing,” he mutters under his breath, eyes flickering rapidly between the paper and the wall. “Alchemy, science, machinery, hell, even blacksmithing I can probably do. Language? Language has _nothing_ to do with—” He stops. “Hah, there it is.”

“Varian?”

“What?” Varian says, to no one. He glances at the paper and then to Eugene, holding it out. “Here. Found the translation paper.”

Eugene pushes the paper back. “Hey, you did most of the work. Go ahead, read it out.”

 Varian blinks at this, looking painfully surprised, and then hesitantly draws the paper back. Ruddiger puffs up on his shoulder, batting Varian’s ear in joy. “Oh, um… sure, I guess.”

He glances at the paper, and then to the wall, and points at the first two lines of text, right under the mural. “So, um… these lines first, I guess. From what I can figure, it says something along the lines of…” He shuffles the papers again, biting his lip absently. After one last breath, Varian reads the words aloud, his voice soft and echoing gently in the cavern.

“ _The Sun and Moon are old lovers_

_Forever tied to one another,_

_When the Tear fell, and the Sun took a flower_

_So fell the Moon, and she built a tower._ ”

He stops, almost abruptly, voice trailing off in the silence. For a moment, no one speaks, the words bringing them all to a halt.

 After another few moments of hushed quiet, Varian clears his throat awkwardly and looks back at them. “That’s, that is, um… the gist of it, anyways.”

His words bring them out of their trance, time restarting.“Old lovers?” Cassandra repeats, almost too loud for the stifling air, surprise in her voice. “You sure that’s what it says? I mean, it’s been ages since I heard the fairy tales, but aren’t they supposed to be old _enemies?”_

Eugene jolts upright, jabbing his finger in Cassandra’s direction. “That’s what I said!” he cries out, waving one hand. “I mean, seriously.”

Varian scowls at that. “And I _told_ you, it’s right, and besides—what stories have _you_ been hearing? Da—I mean… the stories I knew had them as lovers, too. The willful Sun and her devoted Moon. It’s the classics!”

“I’m telling you, kid, all the stories I heard in the orphanage was Sun and Moon, lifelong enemies! Battling it out over the fate of humanity, that kinda thing.”

“It’s in every book of fairy tales around Corona,” Cassandra adds, raising an eyebrow at Varian. “I don’t know why you heard different from the rest of the Kingdom… but anyway, is that really what we’re focusing on? A tower. The moon built a _tower?_ ”

“I thought it was just the rocks,” Rapunzel murmurs, taking out the graphtyc again, unrolling it. She stays quiet on the issue of fairytales, a lump rising in her throat, uncomfortable and stiff. Gothel had told her the Sun and Moon were lovers too, the few times Rapunzel had coaxed a bedtime story out of her. She isn’t sure why she and Varian know a different story, and some part of her doesn’t _want_ to know, either. She doesn’t feel comfortable sharing the memory of Gothel with Varian in the room, with that tower in the ruins.

“I mean, you can see the edges of them here,” Rapunzel continues, voice shaking just slightly. She pushes back her nerves and tightens her fingers on the parchment to keep her hands from trembling. “But… we don’t have the second half of the scroll. If it _is_ a tower…” She lets the paper roll shut. “…What does that mean for us?”

A troubled silence falls over them. They have bad luck with towers. The prospect of another one, one that might be created by the Moon herself… it is daunting to imagine.

Cassandra is the first to break it, taking a deep breath and turning back to Varian. His eyes are dark and shadowed in thought. “The last line there,” Cassandra says. “Beneath the weird… poem thing. What’s that one say?”

Varian blinks at her like he’s forgotten they were all there, and casts an uneasy look back to the carving. “That’s the weird one,” he says finally, touching his hand to it. He trails his fingers across the words and then lets his hand fall heavy to his side. “I don’t know if it’s a warning, or instructions, or a guide but… _The sun heals and illuminates; the moon protects and deceives._ That’s what it says, in basic terms.”

“Deceives?” Rapunzel repeats, uneasy with the wording. Something cold crawls down her back, makes her hair rise. It makes her think of obscuring fog and paths leading to nowhere, dreams she cannot shake.

Varian only shrugs. “Trickeries, illusions, hides, conceals… the word is flexible, noun _or_ verb. That’s the closest we could get.”

“Can’t tell if that’s a good sign or bad,” Cassandra mutters.

“Could be either,” Eugene admits, then abruptly grins and nudges Rapunzel with his elbow. “Hey, Blondie—if the Sun took a flower, and that flower became a girl, what does that make the girl? Divine adopted child?”

Rapunzel raises an eyebrow at him, and Eugene subsides with a guilty laugh. “Not the time?”

“The whole atmosphere is a bit too dark and mysterious for dumb jokes like that,” Cassandra agrees dryly.

“Hey, I’m just saying, if it is true, any chance we could get some like… divine godly protection? Mama bear Sun? Head off the bandits, light our path, all that jazz.”

Rapunzel shoves at Eugene’s shoulder, biting back the urge to laugh, her mirth bubbling in her throat. “Oh, cut it out!”

He leans away from her, hands up, laughter in his voice. “Sorry, sorry! You gotta admit that’s how it sounds, though!”

Rapunzel shakes her head, still grinning. The unease and fear of the hidden room has dimmed in the face Eugene’s unfaltering good humor, the chills that had crawled down her spine lessening with their laughter.

Someone scoffs, says with soft annoyance, “Gross, get a room,” and Rapunzel turns with a smile, words welling up, _Sorry Cass_ already rising to her lips.

Except— that wasn’t Cassandra.

It is Varian, instead, who rolls his eyes at them and turns away before Rapunzel can speak. Varian, his usual biting words said so softly that for a moment Rapunzel had not registered them as mean… only teasing.

Surprise makes Rapunzel pause, her thoughts whirling. She watches as Cassandra looks to the sky, proclaims them ready to leave, “now that all that translation shit is done with.” Watches her steer Varian towards the exit. Watches Varian, especially— who reacts to Cassandra’s manhandling with annoyance and a faint wince, rubbing irritably at his leg before following. No insults, no jabs, no ugly looks and bitter insults. Just a roll of his eyes and a muttered complaint. When he shrugs off Cassandra’s helping hand it is more afterthought than dismissal.

Rapunzel has… she has noticed this before, of course, but in light of this past week the change has grown even more apparent. Varian is—calmer, now, around them. He doesn’t sit so far from the fire, doesn’t scowl at their kind words or brush off their concerns the way he used to. He’s still quiet, still distant, but… less so, in a way. He sits still at the edge of their campfires, limp against a rock or tree or sleeping horse, eyes closed and breaths soft and even, looking young and small and shadowed in the light. Asleep, or maybe just dozing, letting their conversation wash over him. Not a part of their group. But not as divided as he was at the start of their journey, either.

Has he changed? He must have, Rapunzel thinks. She can see the evidence of it all around her, the pieces lining up in her mind. The moments where Varian smiles, laughs, speaks like he used to— moments that prove the boy he used to be isn’t lost, not entirely. His muted comments, almost friendly in nature, less ugly and more testing. Even this past week— the look on his face when he ate the apple treat, his accurate translations, his almost… friendly way of describing these translations. He didn’t withhold them out of spite, didn’t refuse to give them. He didn’t hold it against them, and this simple act of goodwill is breath-taking.

It is a sign. Of what, Rapunzel doesn’t know. But… it is a sign, and she thinks— she thinks it might be the sign she’s been waiting for.

Cassandra and Varian have left already, gone ahead to tie up the horses. Rapunzel catches Eugene’s arm before he can leave too. He stops, watching her, and she bites her lip, waiting on her thoughts, eyes wandering back to the exit. Neither Varian nor Cassandra reappear. It is just them.

Eugene lets her think, eyes going back to the carving as he waits.

“Eugene…”

“Yes?”

She turns to the carving too, interlaces their fingers as she trails her eyes over the intertwined sun and moon, the strange text. “Those… those days you were working with Varian. How— how did he seem to you?”

“Hmm. Good question,” Eugene says, and squeezes her hand. “I, uh… I don’t know, really, I wasn’t exactly trying to figure the kid out. But ah… quiet, I guess?” He hums under his breath, considering. “Thoughtful. Lots of dark humor, short spiteful comments, _completely untrue_ jabs about my intelligence and appearance…” He draws his voice out, turning the words sing-song, coaxing a small smile from Rapunzel.

Eugene glances at her, smiling softly, and squeezes her hand again. “Why? What are you thinking?”

Rapunzel takes a breath. “This whole journey,” she says finally. “This whole time, this past month, you and Cass— you’ve been _trying_. You’ve been talking with him and…”

She doesn’t know, exactly, what she is trying to say—doesn’t have the words for it. Rapunzel mutters under her breath and sighs heavily. “Don’t you see it, Eugene? Sometimes he almost looks like he used to. And he—he doesn’t really attack Cassandra anymore, or you at all really, and never likes he means it, and—”

“Just you,” Eugene realizes, softly, sadly. “He only ever attacks… look, Blondie—”

“You’ve  _talked_ with him,” Rapunzel presses. “I’ve been watching. And Varian, he’s—he’s not always angry, he’s not _lost._ I think—I think maybe I can reach him, Eugene! I think—well, I guess, what I’m really asking is, do _you_ think—”

Eugene places his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Slow down, Blondie, you’re babbling!”

Rapunzel takes another deep breath, shaking her head, trying to get her thoughts back on track. The ends of her hair sway with her, tickles at the back of her heels. “S-Sorry. Just. Do—do you think I could, too? Find a way to resolve this mess?”

Eugene bites his lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t see why not,” he admits finally, every word slow and reluctant. His hand rises to her face, thumbs her cheek. “But Varian—he’s got a lot of anger towards you, Blondie. I don’t know if—I mean, he’s got… _a lot_ of anger. That can be hard to weather.”

“But you think I can,” Rapunzel presses.

“Rapunzel, I think you can do anything, if you set your mind to it,” Eugene says honestly, a fond smile tugging at his lips. His expression is earnest, open, loving. “And… looking back, I think you’re right. He’s been quieter. He’s been listening more. He might… a month ago, probably not. But now? He might be willing to listen.”

Eugene’s hand falls, clasps her other hand, bringing their palms together. His smile grows, turns crooked with fond nostalgia. “And you know me. I’ll always have faith in your unrealistic and frankly somewhat unnerving ability to reform former criminals.”

Rapunzel bursts into giggles at that, reassured by his answer. She had thought… but she had been wrong about Varian before, and a second opinion is always good. She is relieved to see Eugene thinks the same.

“But what should I say?” Rapunzel asks, suddenly fretting, and Eugene takes her other hand with a laugh, winking at her. He steps back, pulls her into a light twirl, gently moving them towards the rope ladder and back to the open air above.

“Well, Blondie… it never hurts to start with an apology.”

Rapunzel smiles at that, warmth and relief welling up inside her. “That’s… right. That’s  _right_.” She sighs out into the air, feeling like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you, Eugene.”

He pulls her close and kisses her cheek. “Anytime, Sunshine.”

They walk to the rope ladder underneath the hole, leading out of the room, sunlight spilling from the opening. The rays alight on their upturned faces, brighten the shadowed corners of the secret room. Rapunzel takes Eugene’s hand, and together they climb into the morning sky.

-

Another week passes before Rapunzel gathers enough nerve to speak with Varian.

This will not be like that time in the dungeons, over a month ago. Her only protection here is Cassandra and Eugene, not cell walls, and beyond even that, this time is not nearly so simple. She is not seeking a truce, or an answer to a question. Rapunzel is seeking resolution, an end to their conflict. Rapunzel is making amends.

This is no easy task. She has no idea how to go about it, no idea what to expect or how to prepare. The idea of talking with Varian is… unnerving. For all that they have traveled together this past month, for all that they have spoken… they haven’t actually _talked._

Rapunzel rarely speaks to Varian directly, and only ever about safe topics. Varian never talks to Rapunzel at all—the few times he’s acknowledged her, his words have been peppered with insults and biting accusations, his voice stripped clean of any positive emotion. Whatever ground he has found with Eugene and Cassandra, whatever peace he has found with what happened between them, it does not extend to Rapunzel. She is as low in his favor now as she was when they started.

But there is hope for them too, Rapunzel thinks. There must be. He has been calmer recently, quieter. In the past few weeks, since the bandit fight and the rain and their long journey, he has gone into himself, his outbursts less and less. She cannot help but find it a good sign.

Maybe Varian _is_ finding peace here. Maybe looking for answers, maybe taking him on the journey— maybe it has helped him come to terms with things, finally settle some of the hatred and anger inside him.

His almost-civility, his lack of complaints and his cautious help with translating the carvings from the ruins— they lend credibility to her idea. If there was ever a time to speak with Varian, Rapunzel decides, it would have to be now. It has to be here, in the open air and sunlight. Here, where Varian is as free as he can be, with only a ball-and-chain to tie him down. Here, where they have “forgotten” his nightly handcuffs enough it is like they have never existed, a show of trust on Cassandra’s part that still sends Rapunzel giddy with delight at the progress.

She cannot postpone forever, however much she might want to. The moment they return to Corona, Varian will be locked away again, unless a solution is reached—and there, in those stone walls, so like the prison of Rapunzel’s old tower, Rapunzel cannot imagine such a conversation will go well.

Still, she waits. Nerves and need work together to stall her. She has one chance to do this right, and it must be at the perfect moment. She cannot have Cassandra and Eugene there. She cannot have anyone there but her and Varian—and Ruddiger too, if only because the raccoon will probably hesitate to leave. This problem began with them, and so it must end that way.

This show of trust—this choice to face him on her own—is one she hopes will show her sincerity. She does not want Varian to be her enemy. She does not want to hurt him, to treat him like a stranger. There is no snowstorm to derail her this time. She can face him as a friend, here; not a Queen.

Finally, one late afternoon, she gets her chance. The stone path has begun to lead them into a mountain range, and so trees and wood for their fire become scarcer and scarcer. It is easy to suggest that Cassandra and Eugene go out together to gather it, easier still to reassure them that she will go with Maximus.

Of her friends, Maximus is the easiest to convince. He knows how much she wants to make this up to Varian, understands her need to face him alone. He nickers and brays lowly, but grudgingly accepts her request to stay out of sight and out of earshot. Even Pascal, for all his skepticism, goes with Maximus quietly. Animals are intuitive, after all, more so than humans ever will be. Perhaps they too understand why Rapunzel must do this alone, no matter the risk it might carry.

Preparations complete, Rapunzel rubs her hands down her riding pants, the fabric itching at her sweaty palms. She feels almost sick, a knot of nerves settling like a lump in her throat, making her breaths short and wheezing. She is hyper-aware of Pascal’s absence from her shoulder, and the mere idea of walking back to camp—walking back to where Varian sits alone, setting up the campfire—is enough to make her knees shaky with nerves.

Rapunzel exhales roughly, pushing her worries aside. She has nothing to fear from Varian, she reminds herself sternly, moving back towards their camp. And even if she did, he is in chains, still, and Rapunzel is far stronger than he is—years of pulling around seventy feet of heavy hair. No alchemy, in chains, and Varian’s own growing sense of peace—no. She has nothing to fear but rejection, and though that will cut as deeply as any blade, it is an ending she can live with.

Resolution. That is Rapunzel’s goal. Varian doesn’t need to forgive her, or like her, or even speak with her again. She just wants resolution. Understanding. Even that little is all Rapunzel needs.

Still, as she draws by the campsite, her steps falter when she sees his bowed back, bent towards the circle of rocks that is to become their fire. Varian is sitting on a broken log, pulled close to the rocks to create a makeshift bench, his back to the path. Ruddiger sits curled in his lap, eyes shut, Varian’s free hand carefully stroking the raccoon’s dusty gray fur.

Rapunzel sucks in a deep breath, and forces her hands still by her sides, shoulders pulling back. “Varian,” she calls, uncertain if he has heard her approach. His head rises. He doesn’t turn to look at her. His hand stills on Ruddiger’s back, and the raccoon’s small black eyes open, peer up at her silently.

“Varian,” Rapunzel repeats, when she is closer to him, refusing to be cowed by his cold shoulder. His back is stiff, head deliberately turned away. His eyes cut over to her when she speaks, wary and distrusting, electric blue in the fading sunlight. She can see his fingers curl.

Rapunzel tries for a smile. It sits weak and trembling on her face. “Can—um, may I sit with you?”

Varian squints at her, and for a moment she almost thinks he will refuse her request out of spite. At the last second, Ruddiger chitters at him, and his face twists. His eyes dart back to the circle of rocks.

“Do whatever you like.”

Rapunzel swallows down her nerves, taking his neutral answer as invitation. She settles beside him on the log, not so close as to be intruding, and pretends not to see him scoot away from her. Some weaker part of her is grateful for the distance he creates.

“I, uh,” she starts, and takes another deep breath to keep her voice from shaking.  Her fingers fist in the rough cloth of her tunic and then relax again, a soothing repetition. “Varian, I… I wanted to talk with you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, jaw clenching, eyes still stubbornly turned down to the fire pit. He pokes out his foot and nudges another rock into place with aching slowness. His free hand resumes petting Ruddiger, but the motion is stiff now, careful and controlled. “I assumed,” Varian says finally, strangely bereft of emotion. “Since you’re here and all.”

Rapunzel shuts her eyes against a wince. His demeanor is nothing she wasn’t expecting, but it still rattles her. “Right. Um.”

Another breath. She holds it, letting it out in a slow exhale, her nerves flashing briefly to frustration. Oh, _why_ is this so hard? She has debated this conversation for over a week; her hesitance is ridiculous.

“Varian,” she starts again, slower now, taking the time to speak clearly. “I—I want to apologize.”

Varian goes still at this, sitting frozen beside her, his hand pausing mid-air as if her words have locked him in place. She can’t tell if he’s breathing or not. Rapunzel pushes onwards, almost tripping over the words, her long thought-out speeches and graceful wording fleeing her mind in panic. “I know I—that day, in the snowstorm—Varian, I am—I am so, so _sorry.”_

“For what?”

Rapunzel startles, confused by his words, ill at ease with the question. “Um, what do you—”

 _“_ For  _what?”_ Varian snarls, his composure vanishing. His head snaps up, eyes flashing to her face. Fury is writ into every line of his body, but Rapunzel does not pull away, does not cede ground. “ _What,_ exactly, are you sorry for? _Princess.”_

Rapunzel meets his eyes squarely, looks him full in the face. His sudden vehemence is not a surprise to her, for some reason. His outburst doesn’t upset her, only calms her. Her shaking hands still on her skirts, the sick feeling ebbing away as if it had never been.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend,” Rapunzel says patently, each word loud and distinct. “I’m sorry I left you in that storm. I’m sorry I didn’t come to help you after. I’m sorry my hair didn’t work, Varian, and— I’m sorry I made you that promise. That I—that I didn’t _keep_ my promise.”

Varian looks stunned at this response—or perhaps that she responded at all. His eyes search her face, wide and startled. Then they drop back to the ground, his lip curling. His fingers bunch in Ruddiger’s fur. “You don’t mean it,” Varian says, bitterly.

“I do,” Rapunzel says, her voice soft.

“ _No_ , you don’t,” Varian snaps back, and turns from her again. This time, when he pulls away, it is less anger and more hurt that creates the distance between them. One hand drifts down to rub hard at his lower leg, near his foot. “You—you never do. You’re not sorry that you broke your promise, you’re sorry because I called you out on it, and I made you _feel bad._ ” His voice curls in disgust, teeth bared in a frightful show of anger. “Cut the act, damn it! I don’t _care_ about you guys anymore. Stop trying to pretend!”

“I do care,” Rapunzel counters, sitting up straight on the log. She is startled by this turn, by his accusation. Rapunzel has treated him terribly, yes. But that never meant she didn’t care about what happened to him. “I—Varian, I did care. _Do_ care. I never—I never wanted to hurt you! You were my friend!”

“Then where were you!?” Varian cries out, whirling on her suddenly. Ruddiger squeaks in surprise, jumping to Varian’s shoulders, curling around his neck. Varian doesn’t seem to notice. His hands splay out, open and pleading. His face is twisted with old anger, but in the dark sunset his eyes are gleaming with tears. “You—you _lied_ to me! You turned me away! You threw me back out into the storm and you— you— you _never_ came! Not even—e-even, even when the snow was gone, you just— you just didn’t.”

His hands drop. The fragility in his voice gives way to rising fury. “So don’t you _dare,_ Princess. Don’t you dare say you— you _cared,_ that you’re _sorry._ Because we both know that’s not true.”

Rapunzel closes her eyes, sucking in a shaking breath. Despite the evening warmth, she feels terribly cold, as if a wind has blown straight through her, turned her bones to ice and frozen her blood in her veins. “You… you’re right.”

“I’m—” Varian starts furiously, then stops mid-word, blinking rapidly. “I’m… wait, what?”

“I said you’re right,” Rapunzel repeats, licking at her dry lips nervously, trying to drag her thoughts into coherent voice. “I— Varian, there is… there is no excuse for how I treated you. I was— I was a terrible friend to you, and I am _sorry,_ Varian.”

She feels like she is saying those words too much; she feels like she could never say them enough. Rapunzel forges onward. “I… I don’t have a reason for you. After the storm, after acting as Queen, and making all those awful choices…” She trails off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “I just, I was scared to come find you. I was scared about _what_ I would find. But that is… that is no excuse. It was unfair to you.”

Varian pulls back at that, and Rapunzel leans closer, her words coming faster. Yet, her voice never falters. Never falls. Each word as clear and as precise as she can make them, her apology laid out bare between them. “I should _never_ have broken my promise,” Rapunzel swears, “and I should never have kept breaking that promise. I am— I am so sorry, Varian, from the bottom of my heart. My fear… I should _never_ have let that keep me from helping you, but I did. And that’s on me.”

Varian shakes his head at this admission, almost helplessly, expression painfully uncertain. He sways on the log, eyes distant and blank, fingers reaching up to curl into Ruddiger’s fur. His breaths come out in short and painful gasps. His shoulders are trembling. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but his voice is a whisper, broken and thin. “Stop, stop— why are you _doing_ this?”

“Because you were my friend,” Rapunzel replies, quiet and sincere. “And I let you down.”

“ _Stop,”_ Varian says, sounding close to tears. Strength returns to him, raising his voice and bringing life to his words, heated and rushed. “What difference does it make!? You still— it doesn’t change _anything!_ My dad, and the rocks, and the storm, and— you, you _attacked_ me! You wouldn’t even— when I asked you for help, for the flower, you wouldn’t even do it for _me!_ Corona this, Corona that… I know where your loyalties lie, Princess!”

Rapunzel stares at him, stunned momentarily speechless. “I never meant it like that,” she says, feeling numb. “I just—when I said it was for Corona, Varian—you were always included in that! Corona… it’s you, and your dad, and your village, too! I, I _never_ meant it to sound otherwise.”

“You sure didn’t talk like it was for me,” Varian bites out, every word shaking with raw emotion. His voice cracks, and he turns his head away. “You— damn you, you attacked me!”

“I said I would help you!” Rapunzel returns, appalled. “You’re the one who threw that offer away. You—Varian, you took the flower, and then you left, and the next time I saw you, you _kidnapped_ my _mother._ You gave me no other choice!”

“And what’s so wrong with that, huh?” Varian says, turning back to her. Ruddiger chitters nervously on his shoulders, tugging at his shirt; Varian ignores this, his eyes never faltering from Rapunzel’s face. “So what? Even if I had asked, would you have come? I did what I had to! And the flower—what’s so wrong with me taking the flower? It was useless, anyway! It didn’t work!”

“You stole it!” Rapunzel snaps back, feeling breathless at his audacity. “You took it, all of it, for your own reasons—”

“To save my family!”

“Varian—”

“Besides,” Varian says sharply, before Rapunzel can speak, his voice rising in volume. “Isn’t that—that’s pretty hypocritical of you, isn’t it, Princess? _I’m_ the selfish one, _I’m_ the bad guy, that’s why I’m in—” He yanks roughly at the chains around his ankle, hand digging into his leg again, pressing hard against his boot at some unseen irritation, “ _these,_ right? Because I’m _bad,_ so I have to be _punished,_ and it’s all fair and just and righteous— well what about your dear old dad, _Princess!”_

Rapunzel draws away, unease coiling in her gut, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in topic. She has lost the plot, lost track of the conversation, and she scrambles for a hold, for a way to reorient herself. Bile rises in the back of her throat. “My—my dad? He—”

“He stole the flower too, didn’t he?” Varian challenges. “He took the flower, he, he started this whole thing, he  _ignored_ it for—months! Months, while my village was _dying!_ And what excuse did he give, huh? What—what _reason_ was so spectacular the whole damn kingdom decided to forgive him?”

Rapunzel can’t talk. She feels like she’s been struck, her breath stolen right from her lungs, her words glued to her throat. Her thoughts are blank, empty, hollow like dead trees. She sits numb and silent on the log bench, shaking faintly in the evening wind.

Varian starts laughing. His voice is pitched high and desperate, echoing off the mountain stone. Some part of Rapunzel hysterically notes that if Cassandra and Eugene hadn’t heard any of their yelling thus far, they’ll definitely hear this.

“No answer, huh?” Varian asks, the ire fading from his voice, from his face, from his stance. His breathing is ragged. “Let me guess. He did for his _family._ ”

“That’s different,” Rapunzel whispers. She almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. So soft, so careful, so fragile.

“No, it’s not,” Varian says. He sounds tired. Dead, almost, his words empty and blank. Stating facts. “It’s _not.”_

“He didn’t try to hurt people,” Rapunzel says, shaking with uncertainty, her mind stumbling over her own memories. The guards chasing after them, her broken tower, the deserted town of Old Corona. “He never—he didn’t—”

“Didn’t what,” Varian dares, something dangerous creeping into his voice. “Go on, Princess! Talk! What did the dear, mighty king _not_ do?”

“He never tried to blame others for his mistakes, for one,” Rapunzel bites out, shaking like a leaf. Her voice is tight and furious to her own ears, drawn close to breaking. In her lap, her hands fist so tightly she can feel her nails break skin. “He never blamed people for his actions, for what he’d done—”

“What… _I’ve_ done?” Varian repeats, with growing fury. “What I’ve done is reveal the _truth!_ ”

“ _Oh,_ you’ve done so much more than _that,_ Varian,” Rapunzel snaps, her voice growing loud but her tone going quiet, dark and dangerous. “What, do you want a list? Where—where should I even start!? Stealing the Sundrop flower, the attack on the square, the truth serum, the automatons, the amber, the—”

“The amber?” Varian repeats. His voice breaks on the word.

Something in the way he says that sends Rapunzel stumbling to a halt. She gasps for air, staring with wide eyes at Varian’s pale face, and pulls herself back both physically and emotionally. She feels shaken, her anger slipping through her fingers like sand. It leaves her hollow and numb with growing horror and alarm, as her mind catches up with her angry words.

She had… what had happened there? Why had she said those things? Anger gets her nowhere, does her nothing, but for a second, Rapunzel had—she had forgotten that.

“Sorry,” Rapunzel says, trying to calm down. She feels almost feverish, stunned by her own viciousness, how quickly it came and how suddenly it faded. Her hands twist in her lap, her stomach sick with rising guilt. “I’m— sorry, that was out of line, I shouldn’t’ve—”

“You think the amber was my fault,” Varian says blankly.

Rapunzel blinks at him, still rattled from her own outburst. What is he saying? It’s not as if Varian intended it, she has no doubt that it must have been an accident, but he had shown her himself that it’d been alchemy to create the amber. “I— I don’t—”

“That’s right,” Varian says, with cold finality. “You don’t.”

Something has shifted in him. Something has changed. For the first time, a sliver of fear pricks at Rapunzel’s gut. “Varian—”

“You don’t, you don’t _understand_ it, do you,” Varian is saying, his voice quiet, his eyes feral. On his shoulder Ruddiger chitters frantically in his ear, to no avail. It is as if Varian has gone deaf to him. “It’s not my fault, it wasn’t my fault— _none_ of it’s my fault! It’s yours! It’s your _fault,_ Rapunzel!”

“What is?” Rapunzel asks, confused and growing alarmed at his sudden change in tone, leaning away from him. “Varian, please, calm down, I don’t—”

“ _You did this!_ ” Varian shrieks, rising from the log bench, whirling on Rapunzel. His hands rise up and strangle the air, his teeth pulled back into a frightful snarl. “It’s you, it’s all you, _you_ —”

Without warning, Varian’s leg abruptly buckles, gives out from under him, and he cries out, dropping to one knee. His head bows low, his hands clutching at his leg, fiddling with something on his boot.

“Damn it!” Varian shouts, sounding near tears. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” His fingers scramble at his boots, pulling at the straps and rattling his chains. His shoulders are bent with an invisible weight, an exhaustion and burden Rapunzel can only guess at.

Concern wars with her fear, wins out. Rapunzel reaches to him, and only hesitates for a moment.

“Varian, what happened? Is your leg—?”

He sees her hand too late, and his head snaps up, blue eyes wide and wild, white all around. He pulls himself up to his feet, staggering back. “Stop,” he says, “stop, stop, don’t… don’t, I _hate you—"_

Pain flashes across his face, and his frenzied mantra breaks off into a wordless shriek. Varian collapses again, clutching at his leg once more. He yanks hard at something in his boot, crying out in pain, and then abruptly straightens when it comes free, stumbling back at the recoil.

 In his white-knuckled grip, the bloodied arrow is clear as day.

Her thoughts slow, her world grinding to a halt, as if everything has gone still, taken a breath and held it. Rapunzel can barely breathe past the rising terror and hurt in her throat. “Is that—what is that?” Rapunzel asks, already knowing the answer. She reaches for him again, her heartbeat spiking at the sight of this unexpected weapon. “Varian! Where did you get that!?”

Varian’s fingers tighten around the shaft of the arrow, the once-light wood stained dark with dried blood. The feather-end of the arrow is crumbled and torn. The tip is wicked sharp and bright red in the fading sunlight.

“It’s not my fault,” Varian says, hysteria rising in his voice. His eyes go the arrow and then to her and back again. A far-off shout has them both turning—Cassandra and Eugene in the distance, running towards them, coming closer with every step. His eyes go wide at the sight, and he reels back, face near colorless. “You _made_ me do it,” Varian gasps out, his whole body trembling, his words thin and high and desperate. “I, I _had_ to, it’s _your_ fault—!”

Rapunzel makes to grab his arm, her terror rising at the sight. Cassandra, and Eugene—they will make assumptions, they will believe the worst, and Varian—he has finally begun to forgive them, they have finally begun making amends. She can’t let that be ruined, not here, not now, not after everything. None of them deserve that.

Her fear and desperation blind her, washes away rational thought in a buzz of panic. “Varian, enough!” Rapunzel says, grabbing one shoulder, trying to get close enough to snatch the arrow away. “Let go of the arrow, please! We, we can still fix this! Just, please, _stop—_!”

Varian backhands her across the face.

It is an unintentional hit, a glancing blow made in desperation, one that strikes Rapunzel hard and true nonetheless. Rapunzel’s head snaps to the side, pain exploding like a starburst on her cheek, fading almost immediately to a stabbing pain that radiates across her face.

Rapunzel reels back at the blow, almost falling over in her haste to get away, and the back of her leg slams against the log bench. She is moving too quickly to stop; she is too rattled to think to catch herself.

Rapunzel hits the log, and trips back into open air.

She does not have long to fall. Her spine crashes into the ground moments before her head snaps back against the stone with a sharp _crack._ Whiplash slams her hard against the unforgiving earth, ripping her breath from her lungs, pulling her up and then casting her down again, merciless in its assault.

The world goes black. Dark spots burst across her blurry vision, dance in the corners of her eyes. The pain is so great it is near blinding, stealing her voice and her breath. Rapunzel gasps, too stunned to scream, her whole skull alight with searing pain. Everything blurs, spins into a sickening twist of color and light— condenses again, a picture snapping back into dizzying focus.

Dark red sky, looming mountain silhouettes, clouds painted gold by the setting sun. Cassandra and Eugene, specks in the corner of her eye, growing closer. And Varian, the clearest of all, standing above her, his free hand outstretched as if he had tried to catch her. His mouth agape, his fingers curled in a white-knuckled grip on a blood-stained arrow. Ruddiger on his shoulders, crying as only animals can, pawing desperately at Varian’s pale face, tugging at his hair and clothes to no avail.

Varian looks down at Rapunzel. Slowly, his eyes turn to the arrow. His grip shifts. The arrowhead spins in his hold, goes from pointing at the sky to pointing down towards his feet. His hand lifts. His eyes go back to her.

The arrowhead in his hand turns slowly—aims, with deadly precision, at Rapunzel.

Rapunzel stares back, vision swimming with tears, unable to move from a combination of breathless pain and overwhelming dizziness. She feels strangely disconnected, as if looking through the eyes of someone else. Someone else who is here on this ground, whose cheek aches with a rising bruise, whose head is a firework of pain and agony. Someone else staring up at that bloody arrow.

Varian is so pale. So quiet now, in contrast to only seconds ago. His hand rises slowly, like a puppet's. His eyes are wide and blank and almost unseeing. Rimmed with red and shadowed with something she cannot name.

Rapunzel cannot recognize him. She cannot see anything of the boy he once was in his face. She cannot even see the boy he is now. No anger. No hatred. Just a blank canvas, a terrible apathy. His hand rising not because he wants it to, but because it is the only thing to do.

Rapunzel looks into his eyes, the eyes of a stranger, and feels the cold prick of fear strike her heart. She doesn’t know what he will do. She doesn’t know if he will kill her. If he can. There is nothing in his face, nothing about his expression, nothing in this boy that gives her an answer.

Maybe the truth is that Varian doesn’t know, either.

In the distance, Rapunzel can hear yelling, the braying of a horse, Eugene’s shrill voice, Cassandra’s furious scream. She knows they won’t get here in time. She is sorry, for that. That they are too late, and that they will have to see.

Varian holds the arrow above his head. His breathing is shallow. His eyes stare right through her.

Rapunzel doesn’t look away. Despite the pain and fear and dizzying regret, she does not turn, does not drop her gaze. And it is only because of that—because of her unfaltering stare, her inability to look away—that Rapunzel sees what happens next.

Oh, Ruddiger. Poor, beloved Ruddiger, who has stayed by his friend’s side through all those months. A loyal heart and loyal pet. Curled up on his boy’s shoulders with his ears laid flat back and black eyes wide with nameless terror. Poor, dear, beloved Ruddiger, who sees his boy’s hand rise and Rapunzel’s terror, and reacts when they cannot.

At the moment before Varian makes his choice, Ruddiger opens his mouth and sinks his tiny teeth into the top of Varian’s ear.

The arrow slips free from suddenly slack fingers.

Varian screams.

If time had been slowed up to this point, cast into an agonizing crawl of seconds stretched out too long, then this action restarts the clock with a vengeance. Ruddiger sinks his teeth into Varian’s ear, and Varian goes reeling back at the sudden assault. His hands rise up to his face on automatic, his head thrashing frantically to-and-fro in a desperate attempt to remove the source of his pain. His hand smacks Ruddiger away in a spray of blood.

The raccoon twists midair and hits the ground hard with a yelp of pain, scrambling at the dirt. Varian goes tripping back, both hands going to his ear. His eyes are wide. “Ruddiger?” he says. His voice is soft, uncertain, childlike. “R-Ruddiger?”

Ruddiger spasms against the dirt, crying out under his breath. Varian makes a pained noise in his throat, looking devastated. “Ruddiger, buddy, you’re hurt, you—”

He reaches out, falters, stops in his tracks. His hand turns over slowly, palm facing up. The dark red of Varian’s blood is smeared across his open hand, beading on his fingertips, trickling off his palm. The red is stark and violent against his colorless skin.

Varian looks at his bloody hand, wavers on his feet. All the color drains from his face.

Ruddiger crawls up on his paws, blood sticking at his fur, making low crooning noises as he makes his way back to Varian. A scene Rapunzel has seen so many times before. Except—except now—

Varian’s hand drops. His eyes are wide. He steps back, steps away, swaying on his feet. Blood drips down his face, his neck. It mats his hair and paints his whole ear red. What is left of his ear, at any rate.

“You… bit me,” Varian says blankly. He doesn’t seem to realize that he has an audience, that Eugene and Cassandra and Maximus are mere moments away. That Rapunzel is still here, gasping for breath on the ground, immobile and in agony.  “Ruddiger, you— you… _why_ , why would you—?”

He stops, gasps for breath, hand fluttering back to his ruined ear. Blood beads through his trembling fingers. He steps away one last time, and then his leg gives out again, sends him crashing hard to his knees on the dusty earth.

Cassandra reaches them first. She goes straight for Varian, grabbing him roughly and wrenching his arms hard behind his back. He falls with little prompting, listless and dazed as Cassandra clinks the heavy cuffs around his arms, the black iron swallowing up his thin wrists.

He doesn’t even seem to notice them. Not Cassandra, grit-toothed and teary-eyed, as she wraps the chains tight around his arms; not Eugene, who goes to Rapunzel, helping her up, babbling apologies and assurances so muddled by tears not a word is understandable. Not even Rapunzel seems real to him, even though only moments ago, he had held an arrow above her head and threatened to bring it down.

Varian’s eyes are wide, hollow, vacant. The tears run unchecked down his face. The blood from his ear pains a solid streak down his neck, soaks into his shirt collar. He is a miserable sight. A terrible sight.

Ruddiger, limping and chittering, crawls closer. Life momentarily flickers across Varian’s face. His expression shudders closed and Varian crawls back, heels digging up dirt as he tries to pull himself away.

“No,” he says, almost a whisper, and Ruddiger stops. Whines low in his throat.

“N-no,” Varian says. “No, no, no…”

His voice stops, stutters, fades out. All his words, dried up in his throat. Ruddiger steps forward, and Varian drags himself away—and then the raccoon falls back, pulls away from his boy at last, small body bent in wordless animalistic grief.

Varian doesn’t even seem to see. His eyes are so far away. He is shaking. He is crying.

Wrapped tight in Eugene’s arms, biting hard on her lip to keep quiet, Rapunzel looks down at Varian’s trembling form. A small boy, wrapped in chains, covered in blood and looking like his heart has been ripped out of his chest. A boy with blood on his hands and murder on his record, an arrow left discarded on the ground, red mingling into the dark dirt.

Rapunzel curls her hands into Eugene’s vest, cold to her bones, shaken to her core. Afraid, at last, a month too late.

Varian is crying, but Rapunzel looks away.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …yeah. …..Sorry about that...
> 
> Sadly, this was always going to happen, and at this point in the story, it was doomed to fall apart. As much as Varian has some good points on his side, it’s not fair to Rapunzel to have to be the one apologizing for everything. What Varian’s done to Rapunzel is far worse than what she’s done to him. 
> 
> They are still at an… imbalance, I guess? Rapunzel is so focused on making it up to Varian that she is ignoring her own needs—her own desire for an apology. She doesn’t expect him to ever give one, but that isn’t something Rapunzel should just have to suck up. She deserves an apology too, almost more than even Varian does. She is trying to forgive him for something he isn’t sorry for, and honestly?? She shouldn’t have to. Neither of them are at that point yet, so...
> 
> Plus, redemption… redemption isn’t always an uphill road. Sometimes you slip and fall, and hit lower than you ever thought you could go. I kinda wanted to show that, too. Varian would never listen to Rapunzel and the group, no matter how many bonding moments they have. He’d never believe he could go too far, if they were the ones to tell him that. So he had to be shown— he had to know that “too far” has always, always existed for him. Reality is a kicker.
> 
> This story will have a happy ending tho!! Rest assured! Just…. It’s gonna take awhile for Varian—and Rapunzel—to get to that point, y’know? But all the set-up is done— and now Labyrinths is _really_ gonna get going. I hope you all enjoy what comes next!
> 
> That said, next update may be a bit later than usual. I’ve been doing my best to get these chapters out once every 2 weeks, but I’m leaving for a big trip tomorrow— and I don’t know how much time I’ll have to write. I’ll try and get one more chapter out before the end of July— just, please be patient with me.
> 
> Thank you as always for your support and enthusiasm!! It means so, so much ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/175592006952/title-labyrinths-of-the-heart-synopsis-plagued) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!
> 
> Any thoughts??


	5. The Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god. This chapter is so, so late. A million apologies, guys. Time and real life got away from me a bit there. On the bright side, this is… quite honestly the longest thing I’ve ever written in my life (25k!!! END ME!!), and its full of emotions, so, I hope it makes up for the long wait??
> 
> Seriously though, thank you all so much for all your patience, support, and enthusiasm for this fic!! All of your lovely comments and reactions, the art and asks, your kudos and reblogs… it’s just so wonderful to see!!!! It really inspired me to try to get this chapter out as soon as I could, and just, it’s really pushed me to put out my best. Thank you all so, so much. I’m delighted you guys are enjoying my story, and I hope this next update lives up to expectations!! 
> 
> On that note—a reminder again, that this fic won’t follow season 2, and the plot from now on is my own design… and!! It’s finally starting!! Emotions and plot, that’s this chapter. I am so, so excited to share this with you guys, oh my god. I never actually thought I’d get to write it? Anyways. This chapter introduces a new leg of Rapunzel’s journey, and oh, wow, I am so so ready to get started!!! I hope you all are, too!
> 
>  **Warnings** for: cursing, extreme response to trauma (including a panic attack, dissociation, and vomiting), improper response to a panic attack, graphic description of an injury, graphic description of a possible injury/death (not what HAS happened, rather a what-if), and just... extreme emotional responses and reactions all around. As always, if there is something you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!
> 
> One final note— shoutout to my dearest and closest friend K, (the-tragic-backstory on tumblr, go show her some love, she’s really into DC comics!!) because this chapter would quite literally not exist without her. Thank u for always listening to me ramble, for pushing me to my limits, for reading my drafts and making sure I have time to enjoy real life as well… this chapter’s for you, K, and all the support you’ve given me these years. Love you lots and lots, my dear~~ ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> With all that said—Chapter V: The Crossroads, commence!

 

 

 

_Rapunzel is trapped._

_When she opens her eyes, she is sitting at the crossroads again, legs crossed, hands folded on her lap—exactly as she left it, many days or nights ago in the real world. Her dream is unchanged, the fantasy frozen in place. She has not moved forward but neither has she fallen back. She is still here, still tied to this split path, still torn with indecision. Trapped by her own weakness._

_“I don’t understand,” says Rapunzel._

_Varian looks up. He is still across from her, face-to-face, equals and mirrors. Yet, something is different about him. His hair hangs longer, mussed and tangled. His eyes are bloodshot and wild with pain. His shoulders are bowed, his head lowered. Both ears intact, but his shirt collar is soaked with blood._

_“I know,” he says, frightfully calm despite his ragged appearance. He twists his hands, his wrists rubbing raw against the cold iron of his handcuffs, leaving red streaks behind. “You never really did, I think. But that’s okay.”_

_“I thought I was moving forward,” Rapunzel says, almost pleading. Begging for understanding. “I thought I was—ready. To move forward.”_

_Varian hums. His eyes do not focus on her—he looks everywhere except her. The path of black rocks, the fog, the stream of gold hair twining around them. “Did you really think,” he tells the stone, “that it could ever be that easy?”_

_She swallows hard. “I— You said that before. I don’t…”_

_“Asking questions, following a path…words instead of actions,” Varian says, and at last he meets her eyes. He rubs at his cuffs, shakes his head, sends his many chains rattling like a wind chime. “It was never going to be easy, Rapunzel. It’s why we’re still here, isn’t it?” He smiles, looking sad, staring right at her. Or maybe through her._

_“Everything you’ve learned,” Varian says, almost gentle, “but you still haven’t gone any farther.”_

_Rapunzel doesn’t look at the crossroads; she can’t bear to. “And if,” she says finally, stuttering on the words. She closes her eyes. “If I don’t make the right choice? If I go down the wrong path? What then?”_

_Varian shakes his head. The fog swirls around them, dark as a storm, threatening rain, foreshadowing a violence soon to come. It moves around them like a living thing, mist with a mind of its own. The path is icy cold to the touch, burning at Rapunzel’s bare skin. The air is oppressive, weighing down on her shoulders, heavy with anticipation._

_“You’re running out of time, Rapunzel,” Varian says, his voice unsympathetic, his eyes sharp. “Does it really matter? Your destiny has already been decided. There are only two paths to walk now. The victorious, and the damned. Which path you take depends on you alone.”_

_She doesn’t say anything—she can’t. Her throat is sealed tight and her words are locked away. She can sense the presence of the split path behind her like a ghost, looming like a monster in the dark._

_“So, Princess?” Varian asks, and gives her a bitter smile. His eyes are weary, too old for his young face. “Have you decided?”_

_She hasn’t, and she knows she doesn’t need to tell him so. The crossroads, the fog, the world unknown. And a choice she doesn’t know how to make, a choice she cannot bear. He’s right. She hasn’t moved forward at all, and even now, she still can’t. She cannot yet choose her path._

_Rapunzel doesn’t know which way she will go. But as she looks out at the concealing fog, as she looks back at the path she has followed all this way, the destiny she has resigned herself to…_

_She doesn’t know, but she thinks she is one step closer to figuring it out._

-

At first, Varian doesn’t understand what is happening.

He can’t comprehend the sight, or maybe it is that he can’t comprehend the source of it. His hand is very pale, Varian thinks, a bit hysterical. It is very, very pale, especially compared to the dark of all that blood.

It is everywhere, the blood. It pools in his palm and drips down his face like tears. The bitter tang is strong and sickening, the sharp scent all he can smell, the dark red all he can see.

His ear is burning. He feels like he’s set it on fire, or—something, it must have been _something_ , because it hurts _so much._ It’s not like any pain Varian has ever felt before. It does not dull in seconds, or fade with time. Instead the ache grows only stronger, the sting more painful, until the ache becomes a burn and the burn becomes a firework of pain on the left side of his face. The sheer agony and the sight of his own blood makes him dizzy, his nausea rising, his knees going weak.

What has happened? Varian feels as though he’s just woken up; he feels as if he’s dreaming. What’s happened? He had— Rapunzel had come to speak to him, and—and she had fallen—and he had…

His vision swims, goes suddenly blurry, sharpens again with uncomfortable focus. His mind stops, restarts, stops again. Putting all the pieces together.

“Ruddiger,” Varian says, feeling breathless. Disconnected and distant, as if looking through the eyes of someone else. Reality has never felt so far away. “You… you bit me. Ruddiger, you— you…  _why_ , why would you—”

He can’t understand it, he can’t accept it, and the very idea of it terrifies him to his core. Ruddiger is his friend, the one friend that hasn’t betrayed him, that hasn’t left Varian behind. This is the truth. This is reality. Ruddiger would never turn on Varian. Ruddiger has never once betrayed him. And yet—

There is blood on his hand and pain shooting through his skull, and that is real, too.

Varian doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, or how to fix it. Ruddiger is hurt. Rapunzel is hurt. Eugene is half-way near tears and Cassandra is wrapping chains around Varian’s wrists so tightly it aches.

Ruddiger has bitten off _half of Varian’s ear._

Why? Why would he do such a thing, _how_ could he do such a thing? What could have possibly driven Ruddiger to do that? To him? Varian had held the arrow over Rapunzel’s head, and he isn’t quite sure why, now, but—he must have had a reason. He must have a good reason, because Varian’s isn’t _like that,_ he doesn’t do that sort of thing without a good reason. Rapunzel is—she is in the wrong, she  _is_ wrong and Varian is right, and he _knows that,_ but—

Something has gone wrong in his head, a truth broken, a support torn away. Something has shifted. Something isn’t in place anymore, isn’t the same as it once was, and no matter how hard he tries Varian can’t grasp it. He’s trying to hold water in his palms, sand cupped in his fingers, and he is helpless to do nothing but watch as it slips away.

Ruddiger has attacked him, but he is Varian’s only friend, and that means— that means—

_What have I done?_

His vision grays out. He can hear his heartbeat, and his own breathing, and someone talking—and then, nothing at all. The world tunnels and drops away, and Varian drops with it.

Varian is falling.

There is no other way to describe it, no other words he can find to grasp this awful feeling. He has dropped off the edge, he has strayed from the path, he has been swallowed alive by dark waters. There is no bottom in sight, no ending, just… a drop. Nothing and no-one but him, and that terrible sense of being caught in-between, nothing solid to hold onto, nothing to believe in. A pit in his throat and a vice around his heart.

His dreams are dark and strange, echoes of a reality Varian doesn’t wish to face. He sees blood on the ground and Ruddiger backing away, Rapunzel’s pale and horrified face, a stone path leading to nowhere. Whispers echo in his ears, and chains rub tight around his wrists. He can hear himself speak as if from far away, and even though he doesn’t understand what he’s saying he knows it to be true.

_Have you decided?_

He isn’t sure when he wakes up, if this can even count as waking, if he was ever truly asleep. He doesn’t feel rested, or better, or even aware. His mind is in a thick sludge, his body aches as fiercely as it did before, and sound is distorted, swollen and fleeting, coming from only one side.

He hurts all over. Varian is conscious of it, in a distant sort of way, mindful of the prickling pins-and-needles that run up and down his injured leg, the deep-seated ache in his arms from being chained behind his back for too long. His head—his left ear—is the worst of it. There is a constant and radiating pain that throbs incessantly from that side, in tune to his heartbeat, like blood roaring in his ears. His head feels stuffy, body aching, too hot and too cold like he’s running a fever.

He doesn’t know how long it has been. It could be night, or maybe early morning, or even the new day. Varian doesn’t know. He can’t really bring himself to care.

He is lying down. There is a blanket beneath him, a barrier between him and the dusty ground, but it is thin, too thin—he can feel the hard press of the rock that lies beneath it, can feel the bite of a cold wind through the covers. He could pretend, Varian thinks. He could just lie here forever, pretending nothing has happened and nothing has changed. Varian is not spiraling and Ruddiger didn’t betray him and Rapunzel didn’t fall.

His ear throbs again: insistent, awful, excruciating. It reminds him, forces him back into reality, drives the truth through his skull like a hammer. Varian is bleeding, he’s burning up, and worst of all, for the first time in his life—

Alone.

He is alone.

Varian curls up, hides his face in his arms. He doesn’t cry. He has cried so much that he has simply run out of tears. Another ache to add to his growing list. His eyes are swollen and sore. His bare wrists and ankles sting from the constant irritation of his iron cuffs. The back of his hand aches from when he’d hit Rapunzel.

He shudders at the memory, curling his cold fingers into a stiff fist, feeling something tug at his skin. His eyes open slowly at the sensation, pried by a brief force of will, a sudden spike of curiosity. He looks down at his hand and sees something red-brown and ugly flecking off his fingers.

There is still blood on his hands. His blood, turned dark and dry with age, from when—

Varian’s thoughts stutter and catch on the memory. He inhales sharply, curling up tighter, hiding his head in his arms. No, no, Varian tells himself, don’t think about it—don’t think about that or what followed—don’t, don’t, _don’t you dare._

His breaths rasp in the air, growing louder, become rapid and wheezing. All of sudden it is like he can’t breathe at all. There is a vice-like grip around his chest, a terrible panic squeezing his insides. His heart is racing, his face cold with sweat. His fingers are going numb, and it is like the world is ending.

His mind is caught on the moment, replaying the events of that twilight over and over. Why, why had Varian hit her? Why had he held that arrow over her head, why had he aimed it to her throat? He can’t recall what he was thinking, and perhaps that means he wasn’t thinking at all. But that is worse, almost, to consider that. No control, no logic, just rage and a reaction to it, and where is the reasoning in that?

He’s right, he can’t be wrong—but at the same time his own actions frighten him, shake him to his core. He _needs_ Rapunzel, however much he might hate her. He needs her to follow this path and find her answers, needs her power to free his father. Without her, everything falls apart.

He can remember with terrible clarity standing above her, that arrow in his hand, that awful certainty with which he’d wielded it. He doesn’t know if he would have gone through with it. He tries to imagine it and feels ill at the idea. No, no, he could never—but he _did_.

Varian doesn’t know his own mind anymore, and nothing has ever been so frightening.

These thoughts do not ease his panic; rather, they only increase it. Varian fights against his own rising terror, his own uncontrollable fear, directionless and so intense he can barely think to recognize it.

All at once, a hand touches his back, and a voice echoes in his one good ear, breaking through the haze. “Breathe,” this voice says, and “Count with me, think on something else,” and “Please, please, just—stop, please.”

Someone has pulled him upright, rubbing at his back. Varian is too weak to pull away, but his skin crawls, and he tries in vain to escape the grip the stranger has on his forearms. They are holding him in place—they are holding him still—he can’t run away but _he doesn’t want to stay here_ —

“Breathe,” the stranger says, sounding half-way to panic themselves. “C’mon, kid, just breathe with me.”

Something cold and rough scrubs at his hands, unbearably chilly in the night wind. An old cloth, a rag, soaked in icy water. It scours his palm and turns his numb fingers stiff and freezing, but when Varian curls his fingers again, there is no blood left on his hands.

“It’s gone, the blood, that was—that was it, right? It’s gone now, so _please,_ for the love of… just breathe, please, just calm down—”

Bile rises in his throat, sour and acidic. Varian turns to the side and vomits into the dirt, coughing weakly. His stomach twists and cramps. His mouth tastes of stomach acid and blood, his throat burning.

“ _Shit,_ ” the stranger hisses, sounding a mix of furious and close to tears. Varian is too tired to even resent them for it.

A hand grips his shoulder, tries to pull him away, and Varian shoves them off, gagging faintly. This time he doesn’t throw up. There is nothing left in his stomach _to_ throw up, apparently, and that is almost worse. He chokes on nothing, aching from head to toe, feeling as if he’s just gargled broken glass.

At last, his nausea fades. Varian sits there trembling, kneeling in the dirt, exhausted to his bones. His eyes ache, his tears hot and uncomfortable as they trail down his face. He’s begun to cry again.

Apparently he does have tears left in him. It just freaking figures. 

This time when they try to push him back, he lets them. He tries his best to sit upright, shaking faintly, the world spinning before his eyes. His ear sends a stabbing shot of agony through his skull, a sting he cannot ignore.

“Kid. You’re ill. You, you need to rest.”

No, no he doesn’t. Can’t they see that? Can’t they see that Varian is already falling, already fallen apart, and he can’t afford to lose any more of himself. It’s taking all he has just to ignore it, to pretend, to not look, to not think. Can’t you see, terrible stranger? If Varian sleeps he’ll see it all again, except worse this time. He knows the drill. He knows how these things work. It is not the first time Varian has lost everything.

Except. Maybe. Maybe this time is worse. It feels like a betrayal to even think that, but— but at least then, when Dad was gone, he’d still had…

Varian shivers, shakes his head, pushes those helping hands away.

“Varian, you need to sleep.”

They aren’t going away. Varian shakes his head again, feeling abruptly disoriented. He wants Ruddiger. He misses him. Where is he?

As quickly as it left him, reality comes snapping back into place. No, no, he doesn’t want Ruddiger. He can’t see Ruddiger. Ruddiger had— and Varian, he hadn’t meant it, _he hadn’t meant to hurt him,_ he’d just… it had hurt so much, and he’d hit the source of that pain away, he hadn’t meant to hurt Ruddiger—

But Ruddiger had hurt him first, hadn’t he? So it shouldn’t matter, except—it does, somehow.

“Varian. _Please._ ”

He shivers again. Doesn’t respond.

After a while, the voice leaves. Once more, it is just him. Just Varian, and the dried blood he can still feel like a phantom on his fingertips, the black rocks at his back and the dreams he doesn’t want to remember.

Varian curls up, closes his eyes, and tries not to think. Don’t sleep. Don’t dream. Don’t remember. Maybe when he opens his eyes, he’ll be strong enough to pretend that nothing has changed.

When he finally drifts off to sleep, the sun is rising, and everything is still broken.

-

Eugene has never felt so exhausted before in his life.

He is not old, Eugene knows; he is barely in his prime, a fact which might, to some, make this sort of statement sound rather dramatic. But the life of a thief is not an easy one. There have been many moments like this one, nights sleepless and days strained, the air heavy with unspoken emotion. There have been times when Eugene felt gutted to his bones, felt torn in two, dragged through the mud and cast upon the ground. Even at the tender age of twenty-four, Eugene has known his own fair share of heartache.

He isn’t used to having to witness it happen to someone else.

Caring about others, being a good guy—there are certainly perks to it. But Eugene has forgotten, in a way, what a liability it could be, too. How easily others can hurt you without meaning to, how painful it can be, watching them _be_ hurt.

Eugene has barely slept, these past few days. He knows Rapunzel hasn’t slept at all.

Three days. Three days since then, but it feels both ages longer and yet also as if no time has passed. The tragedy is far away, dream-like, and at the same time too close for comfort. They haven’t moved camp, since then, no matter how much they might want to—both Varian and Rapunzel are in no shape for travel. There is still blood on the ground and an ashen and half-melted arrowhead in the fire pits, where Eugene had thrown the damn thing in a fit of temper. Days have passed since then, but time seems to have stilled upon their campsite, locked them in the moment.

Eugene can’t sleep here. Every time he so much as blinks, he can still see Rapunzel falling, her head cracking against the stone. The fact she has come out of the ordeal with little more than a bruised cheek and very mild concussion is, Eugene suspects, only due to her unbreakable hair. Without that shield, she wouldn’t have lasted through to the whiplash. The first hit against the stone would have—

He can’t think about it; he can’t _stop_ thinking about it. No one is talking, no one is doing anything, and so there is nothing to distract Eugene from his dangerous thoughts, his own memories. The past few days have been so quiet it makes his skin crawl, makes him want to scream. His thoughts have never been louder.

Rapunzel especially has become abnormally subdued. He has never seen her so pale, so beside herself. It is almost as bad as that day in the tower, when Gothel fell and Eugene nearly died and Rapunzel got the world’s most dramatic haircut. Not quite as awful as then, but—close. Closer than Eugene would ever like. He had hoped no day could scar her as that one did, but the incident of three days ago has very nearly succeeded.

It is these sorts of thoughts that cloud his mind, clamor for his attention. They give Eugene no rest, not in the day and especially not at night.

This night in particular is one of the worst. It is early morning, so early is still practically yesterday and the sky is bright and glowing with a rare full moon, shining like a miniature sun against the dark background. Eugene has stayed up for hours now, trying to fall into a fitful sleep.

It's no use. His covers are too warm, the night air too cold. His pillow is like rock beneath his head. His mind is wired, awake, remembering. He tries to think of other things but his thoughts simply loop right around again, fixated on a focal point.

Rapunzel, falling. Her head cracking against the rock, the whiplash sending her neck snapping back. An arrow held above her head and aimed at her throat, and her too dizzy to defend.

Eugene snarls under his breath, throwing off his covers with one angry sweep of his arm. He whirls to his feet, breathing heavily, hands clenched. The clear sky and glowing full moon are bright to his dark-adjusted eyes, and he squeezes his lids shut, bringing up his hands to rub hard at his face, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

Eugene is not the one hurting. But he is tired. He’s tired, and he’s afraid, and he’s—helpless, again, in a way he is starting to hate with every fiber of his being. Like when the snowstorm hit Corona, or when Varian had kidnapped the Queen. The end results the same. Rapunzel, hurting and afraid, and Eugene helpless to do anything but watch.

Some so-called shield _he’s_ turned out to be.

He won’t be getting any sleep tonight. Eugene inhales deeply and lets his hands fall to his sides, casts his eyes across the camp for a distraction. He looks to Rapunzel first—eyes closed, her head resting against Maximus’s flank. Despite this, her eyelids flicker, caught in a nightmare. She is dozing, not quite sleeping, caught somewhere in-between dreams and reality. She hasn’t slept fully since the incident, and as Eugene watches, her eyes open and then close, and she turns to her other side as if to leave the bad dream behind.

Rapunzel is safe, whole, and trying to rest. Eugene tears his eyes away with difficulty and walks towards Cassandra instead. He aches to talk to Rapunzel, but… he doesn’t want to disturb her, doesn’t want to put another weight on her shoulders, not when she is already holding so many.

Cassandra is the safer option at the moment. She is sitting up in the dark, leaning against a tree, eyes open and face set. She is taking the first night watch, and she has been taking the first night watch for the past three straight days. If she didn’t know that lack of sleep would compromise her fighting ability, Eugene suspects she would stay up the whole night.

In any other circumstance, he would find this funny, a show of overzealousness on her part. It’s not funny, though. It’s not even remotely funny, and the worst part is that some part of Eugene agrees with the sentiment.

Most night guards watch their surroundings. Cassandra doesn’t. She is watching Varian.

Eugene’s heart aches at the sight. Cassandra is cold at the best of times, but these past few days, she has been stone. No hint of a smile, not even a frown. Just a cold, unfeeling mask. It’s her way of coping, Eugene suspects, her way of being fair. Like this, she can do her duty without breaking down, without feeling guilty, without taking out her anger on Varian.

She had looked devastated, right after, when Varian was still crying and everything was still fresh. But as they moved through the broken pieces, started a nightly fire and cast the arrow into the flames, her face had gone colder and colder. By the time she had treated Varian’s bleeding ear, it had been like a mask. Cold as ice and just as frosty, but her hands hadn’t wavered, hadn’t tugged the bandages any tighter then they had to be. Cold, but fair. The sort of person Cassandra would like to be, the sort of person she kind of isn’t.

Eugene may joke about how Cassandra is an emotionless ice daemon, but it’s another thing entirely to see her actually _act_ emotionless. It creeps him out, if he’s being honest. For all his teasing, Cassandra is, in fact, a person. To see her pretend otherwise, to see her act as if the night’s events hadn’t gutted her the way it had the rest of them…

He winces at his own thoughts, gut roiling. Maybe Cassandra _isn’t_ the safest distraction tonight, but then, he can’t exactly turn back now. Like that conversation with Varian, all those weeks ago, like watching over the kid as he translates the ruins, or changing his bandages and helping him out of panic attack induced by his own bloody hands—this is just one of those things that needs to be done, that _has_ to be done, no matter how Eugene feels about it.

If no-one else can do it, then he will. It is the absolute least he can do for them.

Besides. He is sick of feeling useless. At least in this, perhaps, he can still help.

God, Eugene hopes so.

Resolved, Eugene walks up to Cassandra’s side, and touches her shoulder gently. She starts badly, whipping around to face him, and Eugene carefully doesn’t flinch when those cold eyes turn to him.

“I’ll take the watch,” Eugene says on impulse, without even thinking about it. Cassandra looks _terrible._ Genuinely, awfully, heartbreakingly terrible. He can’t even think to joke about it. She looks hollow and dead, and a bit like she’s tried to wrench out her every emotion through sheer force of will. He hadn’t ever known a person could look _emotionally_ mauled, but Cassandra has managed it.

Life flickers back into her expression, an echo of her usual annoyance. Eugene is so relieved to see it he just about collapses. “No. I still have hours left—”

“I can’t sleep,” Eugene interrupts, but keeps his voice quiet, non-confrontational. He doesn’t want to fight her, not now, not about this. “I need… something to do.” He casts about for a reason, can’t find one, but knows if he doesn’t give one Cassandra will suspect him of taking pity and refuse on principle.

“Please,” Eugene says, suddenly sounding as exhausted as he feels. “I need to—not think. For a bit.”

Not his best excuse, but not his worst, either—it is practically the truth. Cassandra goes silent. Eugene waits, and when she doesn’t reply, sighs quietly and repeats himself. “I’ll take the watch.”

Her face twitches, and she finally looks away. “Fine.”

She stares at Varian for a long moment as if to check he is still sleeping, and then turns to her side, fiddling with her pack. She turns back to him and presses something into his hand, the objects obscured by the dark. “Wake up Max to replace you before sunrise, if you’re still doing the watch then. Varian needs his bandages changed within the hour.” She squints at the boy briefly, a quick sideways glance of her eyes. “He’s not sleeping well. He reopened the wound again.”

Her voice is unsympathetic, but her hands are clenched. Eugene doesn’t comment on it. He can’t even begin to imagine Cassandra’s thoughts on this whole situation, doesn’t even want to try. Instead he takes the offered supplies from her with a worn smile.

“I got it. Change bandages, wake the horse before dawn, keep an eye on the nightmares.” His expression gentles. “Go sleep, Cass.”

“You’re being nice,” Cassandra murmurs back, for a moment almost looking like her old self. “Now I know something’s wrong.” She shakes her head with a sigh, the indifference faltering. All of sudden she doesn’t seem nearly so emotionless. She looks as drained as Eugene feels, and that is, in a way, almost worse. He has never known Cassandra to appear defeated, and he doesn’t like the look of it.  “Do I really look that bad, Fitzherbert?”

Eugene presses his lips in a thin line, doesn’t answer her question directly. He rocks on his heels, considering, then says, “…You know it’s not your fault, right?”

At once he knows this was the wrong thing to say. Something dark flashes across Cassandra’s face, and she scoffs low in her throat, standing up abruptly. She shoves at his shoulder to move him aside.

“Save it,” Cassandra says, all ice, but her shoulders are shaking with barely restrained emotion. “I should have known. I should have taken the necessary precautions. I should have— but I didn’t. I thought he was getting _better._ ” Her voice sneers at the word, breaking on old hurt. “I should have fucking guessed. I never learn.”

“Cass, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it, _Rider._ I don’t need your pity. Just— go take the watch, and leave me alone.”

Eugene pulls back, feeling a bit like he’s been slapped, and lets her walk by him without a word. The sting doesn’t last—the hurt fades, and then Eugene is just left feeling tired, and a bit sad. He watches Cassandra leave with a heavy heart, and sinks down against the rocks with a sigh when she’s out of sight.

“That could’ve gone better,” Eugene tells the moon, and grimaces at its unfaltering glow.

He turns the supplies in his hands, fiddling with the white cloth of the bandages, the bottle of salve. It just figures, Eugene thinks. The one thing he can do for them right now, and he’s not even doing it well. Rapunzel won’t talk to him. He’s just pissed off Cassandra. Even Varian… it’d been an oversight, on Eugene’s part, to forget to wash the dried blood off the boy’s hands. He hadn’t even realized until Varian panicked.

Eugene had thought he could protect them, but how can he protect them from something like this?

At this moment, taking the watch is a blessing. It serves as a distraction from these somber late-night thoughts, a way to ignore that terrible loop of downward-spiral thinking. Eugene keeps an eye on his surroundings best he can. The barren landscape is a boon in that regard—it may be getting harder and harder to find firewood and food for dinner, but at the very least he can see anyone coming from miles away.

He keeps an eye on Varian, too. Even in the dim light, he can see the dark red stain seeping through the white cloth wrapped thick around the left side of his head. The boy is pale and sweating, practically passed out against the rocks. The first night, Eugene knows, Varian hadn’t slept at all, had fainted and then, when he’d woken, just stared wide-eyed and quiet into the dark, face blank like a doll’s. By the second night, exhaustion and blood loss had led to him finally passing out into fitful sleep, right up until he’d woken, seen the blood, and freaked out all over again. And now, tonight—sleeping at last, but restless and thrashing from nightmares.

If it weren’t his exhaustion, he suspects Varian wouldn’t be sleeping at all.

Eugene doesn’t know how he feels about that. He doesn’t even know how he feels about _Varian_.

On one hand, he cannot help but pity him. Fourteen years old and looking like he’s been destroyed from the ground up, pale and sick from blood loss and shock. Varian has lost half of his upper ear from Ruddiger’s bite, ripped off by accident when Varian unthinkably smacked Ruddiger off his shoulder. He has deep gorges in his leg, where the hidden arrow had slit into his skin. It’s taken nearly all their medicine and bandages to keep the possible infections at bay, to keep him and Rapunzel on the mend. Fourteen years old, and this kid has been scarred for life.

On the other hand…

Before, it had been easy to remain objective, to not be hurt by Varian’s awful words or actions. There had not been any history, anything to betray, anything to feel hurt _about_. There had been no reason to be angry, except on the behalf of Cassandra and Rapunzel. But now—now…

Now, Eugene is _furious._ He is the angriest he has ever been, filled with so much fury his hands practically shake with it. They had _trusted_ Varian, as much as they could possibly trust him, as much as they were able. They had given him a chance and he had thrown it in their faces. 

In—in Eugene’s face. Because Eugene had thought Varian was getting better, he’d thought they were getting through to him. He’d treated the boy like a friend and in return Varian had taken that trust and twisted it, took an arrow and held it over Rapunzel’s head and still, even now, has the _nerve_ to be _human,_ to make hating him hard, to look like he does now. Not the villain he should be but the boy he is, and Eugene _hates it._

Eugene bites his lip, trying to keep the rising anger at bay. This is no time to get emotional. His hands curl against the bandages, nails digging into the stretchy fabric. His skin crawls in the night wind, his foot tapping restlessly. He wants to scream, he wants to run, he wants—he doesn’t know what he wants.

He wishes Lance was here. 

No distractions arise, and there is no best friend here to keep him company. Just Eugene, and his frankly depressing thoughts, and his mess of a mind. Eugene shuts his eyes with grimace, shaking his head in the dark.

“Get it together, Fitzherbert.”

Rapunzel is traumatized, Cassandra has shut down, and even the animals are spooked beyond belief, the raccoon worst of all. Eugene is the most put together out of all of them, and that means he has to _keep_ it together. No matter his hurt feelings. He said he’d be the shield, and now he’s going to damn well act like it.

He just wishes he knew what to do.

Eugene casts another look up at the dark sky and that watchful yellow moon, and climbs to his feet with a weary sigh. He smooths out the indentations in the bandages and picks up the rest of the supplies from the pack, moving soundlessly to Varian’s side. Within the hour, Cassandra had said. Judging by the dark stain on those bandages, that time would be now.

Varian is curled up on the dusty ground, sitting alone, heavy chains around his hands and his legs, staked to the ground to keep him from moving. Ruddiger, normally Varian’s eternal shadow, is nowhere in sight. The raccoon hasn’t approached Varian since the incident, has been sitting on the edge of their camp instead. Alone and sulking in the rocks, refusing even the company of Maximus and Pascal, looking as miserable as a raccoon can possibly look.

 _What a mess,_ Eugene thinks, not for the first time. He sighs under his breath and couches down on his heels, reaching out to lightly shake Varian’s shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

Varian jolts awake with a terrible start, head snapping up so fast it makes Eugene wince. Sure enough, not even a second later, Varian’s eyes go wide with pain, tears rising and face twisting into a grimace. Eugene can see him strangle back a cry, biting his lower lip hard to keep quiet.

Varian’s hand rises up and hovers by his torn ear, and Eugene’s catches his wrist before he can touch it. The old bandages are stained a dark red-brown, the bleeding restarted by Varian’s own fitful and thrashing sleep.

Eugene waits until Varian’s eyes are focused on him before he speaks. “Time to change those bandages, kid,” he says, deliberately keeping his voice even. “It’s just me.”

At the reminder of his wound, Varian’s face shutters, his eyes flickering to the ground. His throat jumps as he swallows. His fingers clench and curl in the air before his hand drops back to his side.

Varian doesn’t say a word when Eugene starts unraveling the thick bandaging. Despite his silence, Eugene knows that it hurts, if only by the tremble in Varian’s hands and the tight expression on his face. Every tug of the bandages makes Varian fight to hold back his flinch, stiff bindings pulling at the raw wound.

When the many layers are pulled away, Eugene carefully eases the soaked cotton padding from the wound, wincing at the way it sticks. Varian shudders at the feeling, eyes squeezing tightly shut, teeth grit hard. When it is finally free, Eugene drops both spoiled bandages and pad to the ground, to discard properly later.

Even in the dark, Varian’s injured ear is a gruesome sight. Eugene winces at the raw edges of the hole in his upper ear, jagged and impossible to miss. A good portion of the ear is just _gone,_ a jagged crescent, a half-circle of nothing. The whole ear is stained red, swollen and inflamed.

Eugene uncaps a canteen of boiled water, now cool, and carefully pours it on the injured ear to clean it off. His other hand he keeps on Varian’s shoulder, holding him tight to keep the younger boy from jerking away at the sudden burn. Varian is shaking beneath his hand.

Eugene doesn’t look at him. He pats the skin around the wound dry and places a new cotton cloth patch smeared with medicine against the injury. He is careful to be gentle when wrapping the bandages, winding the off-white cloth strips around Varian’s head to keep the cotton patch in place.

“There we go,” he says, trying to be comforting. He still can’t look at Varian, but that doesn’t mean he has to be a jerk. Eugene’s feelings on this don’t matter, not right now. He has to keep himself together. “Almost done. You doing ok?”

“I didn’t mean to.” 

In the quiet, Varian’s voice is as ragged as his breathing, ruined from hours of crying, raspy and thin and wrecked. Eugene turns to him, alarmed. Usually Varian just ignores him. This change in routine unsettles him, and Eugene trips over his words, wondering if perhaps he’d imagined it.

“That’s—what was that?”

Varian’s eyes are suddenly open, startlingly awake. He grabs Eugene’s arm without warning, fingers digging his coat sleeve. He licks his dry lips and coughs hard when he first tries to speak. Eugene is frozen in place.

“I didn’t mean it,” Varian whispers finally, hoarse and desperate. “It’s not my fault. It’s not, it _can’t_ be, it’s—not. It’s not.”

Eugene stays quiet, pulling away, prying Varian’s hand off his arm. Varian lets go reluctantly, breathing like he is moments away from having another attack, eyes darting across Eugene’s face, searching for any emotion.

He won’t find any. Eugene is silent as he continues to bandage Varian’s ear. His hands are shaking, throat tight with a rising anger he can’t push away. Eugene doesn’t understand why the kid is talking to him, asking him this, except—he does understand, a little bit, because Eugene has been trying, just as Rapunzel said. He’d been trying. He’d actually liked the kid for a bit there, thought him better, thought him not so bad after all.

So of course Varian is doing this. Of course Varian is asking _him_. Seeking comfort in Eugene, the only person left in their ragtag group who could possibly have a chance at giving it.

It infuriates him, and his hands shake as he ties off the bandages. Because Eugene doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t _care,_ and Varian has tried to kill Rapunzel and betrayed the trust Eugene didn’t even know he’d given, and it’s— a mess. All of it. A fucking _mess._

Eugene is so tired. Tired of watching others be hurt, tired of acting as the only one keeping this whole messed-up group functioning. Isn’t he allowed to be hurt too? Isn’t he allowed to be angry? He owes this kid _nothing,_ and yet he can’t help but pity him.

He can’t tell if he’s angrier at Varian or himself, and doesn’t really care. Eugene stands up abruptly, shoving the supplies into his bag, teeth grit to keep from saying anything he might regret later.

Varian doesn’t let him.

“I’m right, I’m not wrong, I’m _right,”_ Varian says in a sudden rush, eyes wild, fingers tangled and twisting. His hoarse voice breaks, weak from disuse. He reacts suddenly, violently, grabbing at Eugene’s arm. “ _I wasn’t wrong.”_

Eugene doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and all of sudden he doesn’t care. He shakes off Varian’s hold with a harsh tug of his arm, turning sharply to face him. He stands tall, shoulders back. He stares down at Varian, feeling his own eyes narrow, his face gone icy. He couldn’t muster up a smile even if he wanted to.

“You want to know what I think, Varian?” Eugene asks, very soft, cold with sudden fury. “ _I_ think that you know you’re in the wrong. I think you’re very, _very_ aware of that, in fact! It’s just that you can’t accept it. So you take it out on Cass, you take it out on me, you take it out on _Rapunzel_ —”

He has to stop, snarling low under his breath as he fights to keep his temper in check. “But you _know,_ don’t you? You’re a smart kid. You’re a real _smart_ kid, Varian, which is how _I_ know. You know _exactly_ what you’ve done.” His voice is shaking. “And you know that you’re wrong.”

Varian stares at him, wide-eyed, stunned. As if Eugene has hit him. Funny, that, in a way. Eugene doesn’t know what the hell the kid means by any of it, doesn’t even know what _he’s_ saying. Practically nonsense, so _of course_ it’s the only thing to get through to Varian.

Eugene could laugh. He could scream. He is so, so tired.

“Find some other sucker to lie to you, kid,” Eugene says finally. He feels suddenly distant from himself, not all there. “Because I _refuse,_ you hear me? I’m done.”

He marches off before Varian can reply, shivering in the wind. He is wide awake, his mind wired. His teeth are grit so hard it hurts.

There is blood on the ground, an arrowhead in the ashes, a pile of bloody bandages they still need to burn. Suddenly Eugene hates this place, this ugly barren land with its dusty mountains and jutting rock, devoid of trees and cover and safety. He hates it so much he can barely stand it.

Eugene walks over to the others. Cassandra is already sitting up, eyes on him. He must have woken her, despite trying not to yell. Or maybe he was yelling. Eugene doesn’t know.

“Help me pack the horses,” Eugene says, half-way to pleading, not really sure if he’s making sense, if it matters. He doesn’t care if it's two or one or three in the morning, doesn’t care that they are all worn-out and exhausted and in pain. There will be no recovery here. There can’t be, not when the memory of what happened is even rawer than the wounds. “We’re leaving in the hour.”

Cassandra doesn’t say a word. Just stands, a coat thrown over her shoulders, mouth a tense line. Her eyes, shadowed in the night, are solemn and supportive.

Eugene turns to go pack up his bag, and doesn’t look at Varian again for the rest of the night. Guilt sits heavy in his gut, but he can’t take the words back. He isn’t even sure he wants to.

 _Not my fault._ Oh, if only. Wouldn’t that be nice for him. But the reality isn’t that simple, and Eugene is tired of pretending otherwise. He’s tired of trying to keep himself and everyone else together.

He’s tired.

They set out on the road an hour before sunrise, leaving the ashes and the dead trees behind them.

-

Cassandra forgets about the reports completely until Owl returns.

It is five days after the incident, two days after they have started traveling again. In this empty landscape, she can see Owl coming from almost a mile off, a tiny black speck against a clear and blank sky. For a time she is surprised, confused and not yet understanding, and it is only when he perches on her arm, royal missive tied to his leg, that she remembers.

Ice runs down Cassandra’s spine. 

When they had left the castle, left Corona, all those many moons ago, the King had given her conditions—safety precautions he had hoped to put in place, to protect them should Varian choose to attack.

(If Cassandra hadn’t been so blinded by sentiment, maybe they would have even worked—)

The list had been brief, all things considered, but through. Chains, the iron ball, nightly precautions. Routine searches. One person always on guard.

The King had added on other clauses as well, however. Once at the end of each week, Cassandra was to send him a missive. It did not have to be long, merely concise—a short overview of their journey, a reaffirmation of Rapunzel’s well-being.

Cassandra had sent out the last letter two days before Varian attacked Rapunzel. She has four days, she knows, before she is due to send for the next one, but…

She holds the king’s message in her hands and feels her heart sink. _Hope all is well. Keep an eye on Varian. Do not get too complacent._

A warning delivered too little, too late, and Cassandra stares at the paper for a long time. How, she wonders, is she supposed to tell the king _this?_

The whole day’s ride, she mulls on it. Dear King Frederic, four days ago your daughter nearly died because I was careless. Dear King Frederic, Varian has multiple gashes in his leg and is missing half his ear, please do not order his execution for trying to murder your daughter.

Dear King Frederic— we failed you.

Cassandra can’t do it. She can’t tell him, but she has to, and that is the worst part of all, because… well.

The king has good intentions, Cassandra knows. Good intentions and a good heart. But he is also a man who puts his family above all else, and when she tells him this, she thinks— no, she _knows_ what his response will be, and she is not sure if she likes it.

She is grateful, when night falls, if only because it is one step closer to sleep and ergo one step closer to not having to talk to anyone. It shouldn’t be this much of a dilemma, Cassandra thinks, but it is. How easily she could decide to just not say anything, or simply disregard any reply. All of it, easy, but Cassandra doesn’t like any of it.

She does not want to tell the king, but she despises the idea of letting Varian off light, either. And the last time Cassandra ignored precautions from the king…

It is not her choice, and quite frankly, she is weary of making these decisions for Rapunzel. It is Rapunzel, who urged them to give Varian a chance; it is also Rapunzel, who told Cassandra nothing of her plan when she went to speak to Varian alone. Cassandra is—she is betrayed all over again, because she never bothered to trust Varian but god, she thought Rapunzel trusted her.

There is a growing fury in her, an anger she has tried to stifle for Rapunzel’s sake, an anger that exists regardless. So much to say, but Cassandra won’t say it—knows better than to place such a thing on Rapunzel’s shoulders when her friend is still injured both mentally and physically. Cassandra is still a good friend, and even in anger, she knows how to hold her tongue. She can bite back her anger, she can bite back her hurt, she can, she can, _she can._

The sky is growing dark, and at last their group can go no further. Cassandra doesn’t bother to look for shelter. By now, she knows that she won’t find any. The land here is barren, desolate; they don’t have any wood for a fire, and haven’t for a few days now. What little trees they saw entering this biome have vanished entirely. There isn’t even grass, just patches of dying weeds, dry leaves crunching under her feet as she disembarks from Fidella.

She unpacks their dried food, rations in case of emergency. Without trees and without growing things, the wild animals here are scare or none at all. She hopes it doesn’t last much longer. Even with their supply of rations, carefully maintained and well-stocked under Cassandra’s watchful eye, any longer than another week out here will end in a very grisly demise.

Dinner is a sordid affair. Varian doesn’t look up when she sets his food beside him. Eugene smiles when Cassandra hands him his, but she can’t stand the exhaustion in his eyes. Rapunzel tries to smile, but it is a pale and weak imitation of the joy she used to have, and doesn’t say a word.

In general, no one really talks at these meals anymore, but Rapunzel especially is far quieter than Cassandra has ever seen her. Her enthusiasm is dimmed, her spark dulled. Her confidence has also dropped to new lows. More than once Cassandra has caught Rapunzel staring out into nothing, brow furrowed in deep thought, doubt writ across her face.

Cassandra would blame it on her injury, but that no longer seems to be the case. Rapunzel still doesn’t look _well,_ exactly, but she no longer sways as she walks, and can ride for hours now without any complaint. It goes against anything Cassandra knows about concussions, but— that fall should have led to something much worse than that, but it didn’t. She had thought it luck, at first, but now she isn’t so sure. Maybe this quick recovery and miraculous survival… maybe it is due to the Sundrop running through Rapunzel’s veins.

Whatever it is, Cassandra is piteously grateful for it. If not for that, she has a very real fear that Rapunzel could have died that night, too far for Cassandra to help her. Cassandra is still too far to help her, in a way. She failed to catch Rapunzel when she fell and now she can’t even put Rapunzel’s mind at ease, or look her in the eyes without feeling furious.

 _I should have been there,_ Cassandra thinks, _you should have told me,_ and looks away from Rapunzel’s smile, her heart in her throat. The missive is only paper, but it feels like a heavy weight in her tunic pocket. What would Rapunzel say, if she knew what Cassandra was thinking? What would she do, if King Frederic ordered them to return? 

Cassandra doesn’t meet Rapunzel’s eyes for the rest of dinner. She hums half-heartedly in response when Rapunzel tries to talk and ignores her attempts to get her attention. It’s cruel, Cassandra knows, and guilt twines deep in her gut, curls tight around her throat. But the idea of talking with Rapunzel is almost worse, makes her feel ill, guilt and anger and hurt all tied into one terrible package.

She is pathetically glad, when the dinner finally ends. Rapunzel leaves without another word to her, and Eugene sighs in her direction and goes to set up their beds. But Cassandra is alone, for a little while, if only for a moment. A blissful moment, before her tasks begin again.

After dinner, Cassandra follows routine.

She will stand from her seat, barely-touched dinner in one hand, the other on the hilt of her sword. She will take Varian’s own barely-touched dinner and drag him to whatever rock is closest. His handcuffs never come off now, not after what he’s done, a precautionary measure Cassandra had been a fool to take away. She takes him there, she checks his chains are on tight, and then she wraps an extra length around whatever is available. If that isn’t enough, she takes a tent stake and pins the chain to the ground to keep him from getting up.

Cassandra does this each night, and she does it faithfully. She does not forget. She does not give him leniency.

She pretends he is faceless, that she doesn’t know him, that he hasn’t betrayed her twice over. It is the only thing she can do. The only fairness she can muster.

Cassandra never talks to him during these nights, and Varian doesn’t try to talk either. She is thankful for it, and furious at herself for it. Still. Cassandra doesn’t dare speak. If she did try, she doesn’t know what she would say, but she knows it would be ugly.

_How could you. How dare you. Rapunzel trusted you, and you—_

Better to not say anything at all, Cassandra thinks.

It is necessary, and it is right. Varian is a threat. Even in chains, even as a prisoner, even without any of his usual weapons—he is a threat. He has proved that twice over now, once with the bandits, again with Rapunzel. Cassandra had ignored it the first time. She had deluded herself into thinking it was a good thing.

She won’t make the same mistake again.

Even then, it makes her hands shake. She hates it. She hates it so much and she hates that she hates it, that even in this she is failing. Not enough of a guard to protect Rapunzel, not enough of a guard to do what has to be done.

Three nights now, Cassandra has done this—tonight is the fourth. It isn’t any easier.

Varian is quiet when she stakes his chains to the ground, silent and staring. He’s barely moved since that night, barely moved and barely spoken and barely even eaten.

Cassandra wishes he would react. She wishes he would give her a reason. Say or do something she can respond to, something to slot everything back into place. Varian the bad guy, someone she can hate in peace.

Instead he’s silent, staring, and broken.

Cassandra drives down the tent stake with a furious hit, gritting her teeth. She stands up, breathing heavily.

“There,” she says shortly. “Don’t try to move during the night.”

Varian doesn’t even look at her.

She should leave, Cassandra knows. She should leave now, and yet—

“She tried to give you a second chance,” Cassandra spits, suddenly livid. “She was the first of us who—who really believed that. Do you know that? She wanted to give you— a _chance,_ and you tried to kill her for it.”

Very slowly, Varian looks up at her. His eyes are deep-set and lifeless in his face. It unnerves her. It enrages her. How—how _dare_ he be this way, quiet and grieving and broken and childlike. How dare he act hurt, when it was his actions that wrought all this. His fault, his actions, his choice. What gives him the right to regret it? To— to be a child, instead of an enemy she is free to hate.

“You deserve it,” Cassandra says, voice tight, shaking with barely restrained wrath. “You—you always go— you always go _too far,_ Varian. You always make other people stop you.” She swallows hard, a nerve jumping in her throat. She wants him to snap at her. She wants to fight. She wants to yell and scream and throw a tantrum in a way she hasn’t in years. She hasn’t been this angry in a long, long time. It buzzes deep beneath her skin like a disease, eats at her mind like a parasite. “You _deserve_ this.”

He doesn’t answer. Just shudders, and looks away, expression hollow and eyes vacant. Not even timid, just—turning away.

She wants to shake him. She wants to _scream._

Cassandra tightens her hand around the hammer and whirls on her heels, marching away before she can do or say anything else. Her eyes are burning, and she wipes at them angrily, inwardly furious.

By the horses, half-unpacked bags at his feet, Eugene sits up, watching her approach. “Cass,” he says quietly, as she passes him. “C’mon. I get it but—give the kid a break.”

She stops in her tracks, hands trembling. “Why should I?” she demands. To her horror, her voice is unsteady. She is—she is crying. God damn it all, why, why is she crying? “Why should I do that? _You_ sure didn’t hold back. What on earth makes you think he— I don’t owe him _anything!_ ”

“I know,” Eugene says. His voice is soft. His eyes are tired. “I know, and you’re right, I—I definitely said some things I probably shouldn’t have. But… he doesn’t deserve that. What happened. Okay?”

“He tried to _kill_ —” Cassandra starts, infuriated by this, but Eugene cuts her off before she can continue.

“I know exactly what he did,” he says simply, voice level. “Don’t… don’t patronize me, Cass. I just mean— I’m pretty sure that raccoon was like, the only living creature he saw as, y’know, a friend, and ignoring how sad _that_ is, well, now…”

He breaks off, shakes his head, the truth unspoken but heard loud and clear. Cassandra looks away. Ruddiger has been lingering at the edges of their camp for days now. He accepts food, when they give it, and he let Cassandra tend to the wound on his side, but— he does not go to them, does not let them touch him or bring him into their fold.

“Why do you _always_ do this,” Cassandra asks finally, resentful and angry and needing desperately to strike out at— _something,_ anything at all. “You always defend him, every time. Do you even—do you even care?”

She regrets the words the second she says them, guilt swooping low in her gut. Eugene looks up and meets her eyes. His expression is stone, icy cold and unfeeling.

“Don’t you dare say that to me,” he says, and now his voice is quiet in a different way, low and dangerous. “Not to me. You know I care. I’m not fighting you. Go take your aggression out on some poor misplaced rock, and leave me out of it.”

Cassandra looks away, sucking in a deep breath. “…You’re right,” she says finally. “You’re right. That was… out of line. Sorry.”

He doesn’t respond for a long while, and then he sighs. She chances a glance back at him. He looks— tired, Cassandra realizes. More than tired. Exhausted. Even his smile has lost its shine.

“I didn’t mean it,” Cassandra says, abrupt, uncomfortable with the subject but even more uncomfortable with the look on Eugene’s face. “I didn’t—I just… _I’m_ just—upset. At him. Myself.” She gives a wry smile, bitter and unhappy. “Everything. I should have… not done that. And I should have been helping you more.”

“I’m managing,” Eugene murmurs, but he smiles at her, and it even succeeds at looking like a real one. “Would you look at that, though. Seems like there really _is_ a heart under all that ice.”

Cassandra forces a laugh and punches his arm, inwardly relieved at the return of his longstanding joke. Eugene pulls away, laughing softly, more of his old light coming back to his face. “I mean,” he continues, voice lilting with amusement, “it may be a shriveled, misused, _tiny_ heart, but—”

This time she really does hit him, for real, and he honest-to-god cackles, one hand in his hair and the other wrapped around his stomach. He laughs so hard he nearly falls over, and Cassandra rolls her eyes at him.

Nothing has been resolved, really, but her heart feels lighter already, just with this. “…Thanks,” she says, finally, a bit awkwardly. “I needed that.”

Eugene nods knowingly, shaking off his laughter, brushing away a stray tear at the corner of his eye. “It’s the report to the King, isn’t it.”

Cassandra stares at him, shocked into silence. “No,” she says. “No, I refuse to believe you figured that out on your own, I don’t—what? How?”

“Ouch,” Eugene mocks, one hand rising to his heart, but he is grinning again. “Nah, I just figured. Owl wasn’t here for a few days, suddenly the cold-blooded predator returns and you can’t look Rapunzel in the eye. I… y’know. Used my head and figured it out.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “I didn’t become an internationally wanted thief just because of my awesome lock-picking skills!”

Cassandra shakes her head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I know, I know. With a brain like mine and these handsome good looks? I’m an unfair package!”

“Also, owls aren’t cold-blooded—”

“Shush, shush, I absolutely knew that.”

She rolls her eyes at him again, but for once, his levity doesn’t bother her. Instead, she basks in it. This is the lightest she has felt all week, the most at peace she has been in ages. She knows he is doing it on purpose, and in this moment, she has never been more grateful to know him.

“But seriously,” Eugene continues, voice going soft. “Talk to Blondie, yeah? She knows you’re avoiding her. She… she doesn’t need that right now.”

Cassandra looks away. “Sure,” she lies.

Eugene sighs. “Ahhh, that’s a face. No, you won’t.”

“She wouldn’t want me to talk to her,” Cassandra says, bitterness clawing up her throat. “I don’t think I’d have very nice things to say. Besides. If she wants to make a habit of not _talking_ about things, well, clearly my opinion on the topic doesn’t matter, so why bother?”

Eugene turns to stare at her. Cassandra glares back, and he leans away slowly, something considering flashing over his face. “Oh,” he says finally. “This isn’t about Varian at all, is it? Or even the letter. It’s about Rapunzel.”

Cassandra doesn’t even try to deny it. She hadn’t meant to rant just there, but it had come out without her say-so—words she’d bottled up tight and locked deep, right up until Eugene’s usual nosiness had pried it loose. “So what?” she asks, scowling at the ground. “You don’t have to lecture me. I know not to yell at her, she’s recovering, that’s why I’ve been avoiding her.”

“Cass, seriously, has that plan ever worked out for us? Ever? In the history of literally anywhere?”

This time she turns her scowl to him. “I don’t see _you_ talking to her about it. How are you so—calm! About this! About everything! She _didn’t tell us._ She went to talk to Varian, alone, none of us the wiser, and you’re just _okay_ with that?”

“I never said I was _okay_ with it,” Eugene snaps back, looking riled. “I—look. Cass. I really, _really_ get it, but… this? Now? This isn’t the time. It’s not helping anything! It’s making things worse!”

“I have it under control,” Cassandra says coolly.

“ _Under control?_ Are you mad, lady? You just spent the whole evening stomping around and biting the heads off anyone who so much as breathed in your direction!”

Cassandra flushes a deep red at that, glaring at him. “It’s—it’s more than that. I trusted her! She told me to give Varian a chance, and I did, and I— I failed, okay? I gave him a chance. And then Rapunzel lied to us and went off on her merry way to try and make things ‘okay’ again, and because of my carelessness, Varian nearly killed her for it.”

“Cass, it wasn’t your fault,” Eugene says. He sits up, turning to face her fully. “You were just doing what you thought was right. We all thought things were getting better, not just Rapunzel, okay? And I bet you did too, or else you wouldn’t have agreed.” His eyes are solemn, dark. “We should have been there, I get it, _I know._ But Rapunzel… she didn’t tell us. Okay? I thought—I thought she would tell me. I thought we would be there for it, that we could prepare… And we weren’t! That’s just how it happened! That is not our fault.”

“Oh, don’t give me _that_ ,” Cassandra bites out, irritated by his comfort. “I know what Varian is like, okay? I know exactly what he’s like! But no, I— I ignored it, because Rapunzel _asked_ me too, and I trusted her, but apparently she didn’t trust _me_ enough to _do my job_ and _keep her safe!”_

She whirls away from him, unable to stay still, pacing back and forth in the dust. “Rapunzel nearly died! Varian almost killed her! Do you think he would have hidden that arrow for so long if I’d watched him like I was supposed to? If I’d, I’d kept him chained the way King ordered, if I had done—what I was supposed to from the beginning.” She whirls on him, flushed and angry. “Be honest, Eugene. Do you _really_ think he could have done all that, if I hadn’t already _given him the chance?”_

Eugene stares at her. His expression is helpless, pitying, pained. Cassandra turns away.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “That’s what I thought.” She stands up. “Excuse me,” she says, very delicately, with all the poise of a trained lady-in-waiting. “I have a letter to write.”

“Cass, wait.”

She stops by the fire, breathing in deep, eyelids flickering shut, bracing herself. “What.”

“Just—talk to Rapunzel. Please, just try. This isn’t… it isn’t helping either of you. Just— _talk_ to each other, for the love of god.”

“I told you. I don’t have very many nice things to say, and you know how Rapunzel is about _criticism._ ”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Eugene calls at her back, sounding disgusted. “Give her some credit! For the love of—it’s you, Cass, she’ll listen to you, she wants to make things better, just give her that chance! This is ridiculous!”

Cassandra shakes her head and walks away from him, hands clenched into fists, feeling a mix of sick and infuriated. Some small part of her knows he’s right. The louder part of her—the betrayed part, the horrified part, the part that keeps remembering the way Rapunzel’s head snapped back and keeps thinking _I should have been there—_ that part doesn’t give a damn.

“Give who a chance?”

Cassandra goes still. Behind her, Eugene sucks in a small breath.

“…Cass? Eugene? I heard some yelling, is everything…?”

Cassandra turns around.

In front of her, looking nervous and sporting a weak smile, Rapunzel glances between them. “Is something wrong?” she asks, softly. She moves gingerly, still; on her face a pale green bruise blooms across her cheek. Her eyes flicker to Cassandra hopefully, then away just as quickly, as if she is afraid of being caught staring. “Did… did you guys want to talk with me?”

Cassandra’s heart drops, then hardens. “…Yeah. Yeah, actually, I did.”

Rapunzel looks at her. “O-oh. Okay? That’s cool, I’ve been meaning to talk with you too, actually, I …” Her voice trails off as she watches Cassandra’s face. Her smile fades.

Cassandra marches forwards. “I have a question for you, actually. Just one.”

 “…Oh. Okay. Ask away!”

“I’m writing a letter to the king,” Cassandra says. In this moment her choice is instantaneous, her heart set. “I’m telling him what happened, just like I’m supposed to.”

Rapunzel is quiet for a long moment. “That’s okay,” she says finally. Her voice is small, her cheer weak and forced. “I… I get it, I do. I mean— you’ve been doing it all this time!”

“I’m glad you understand,” Cassandra says. Doubt strikes at her heart, and all of sudden Cassandra finds herself unsure. She swallows hard, and flexes her fingers into a loose fist and back again, wishing for her sword. She has a reason to be angry at Rapunzel, to be hurt. She has a right to demand answers. And she has the right to be told the truth, plain and simple.

“You know what he’ll want, right?”

“…Yes,” Rapunzel says.

Cassandra meets her eyes. Maybe it is cruel of her, to do this, to put the weight of this decision on Rapunzel. But this is not a choice Cassandra can make. She won’t falter in her duty, not ever. But she wants to hear it from Rapunzel’s own lips. She wants to hear it in Rapunzel’s own words. She is angry and she is hurt, and she wants to know. She wants to know why, and she wants to know if Rapunzel will try to do it again.

“Rapunzel, if the King orders us to return to Corona…” Cassandra takes a breath. “What, _exactly_ , are you going to do?”

Rapunzel stares at her. She opens her mouth, closes it, then takes a deep breath. She doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Then she straightens up, turns on her heel, and walks away without a second glance.

-

Rapunzel spends a whole day fretting about it.

It’s not that she _meant_ to walk out and leave like that, except for that she… kind of did. And she knows Cassandra didn’t mean it like that, didn’t mean the way it sounded. Cassandra hadn’t meant it as a challenge or a test, even if it had felt that way, even if… well, maybe she had meant it that way. It’s just— well.

“What are you going to do?” Cassandra had asked, almost accusing, and Rapunzel… Rapunzel had left. Because she was drained from hours of thinking, because she was tired, and because—because she didn’t really know the answer.

It seems like everywhere she turns, there’s a new choice to make, a new deadline. What will you do, where will we go, what have you decided. And Rapunzel—Rapunzel _doesn’t know._ She has never felt so lost before in her entire life, has never once felt this uncertain. Choices to make, but Rapunzel is no longer certain of her ability to make them.

_There are only two paths to walk, now. The victorious, and the damned._

_Have you decided?_

Her head is almost completely healed by now. Her concussion has faded in a matter of days rather than a month, and that alone is enough to send chills down Rapunzel’s spine. The bruise on her cheek, originally a nasty purple-and-blue, is now so pale a yellow she can barely see it anymore, let alone feel it. Never before has she been so aware of how unnatural she is, how strange the flower has made her, as she was when she saw the look on Eugene and Cassandra’s face, their sheer disbelief when Rapunzel woke and walked around without trouble only two days after the ground rattled her skull.

But while her quick healing frightens her, it is nothing in comparison to the troubles still clouding Rapunzel’s thoughts. For all the mending her body has done in this past week, Rapunzel’s mind is still in turmoil.

She isn’t confident about anything anymore, is too exhausted to be positive and too guilty to really think. She avoids looking at Varian and swallows down the sick sense of guilt every time she remembers what happened. She brings food to Ruddiger and doesn’t blame the raccoon for shying away from her, for avoiding her. In saving her life Ruddiger has lost Varian, and Varian has lost Ruddiger, and Rapunzel is not sure she can be forgiven for that. Cassandra avoids Rapunzel and Rapunzel avoids her, and Eugene hasn’t been right since the attack, and—

So many awful things, and Rapunzel’s choices have been the instigator of all of them. It is enough to make her blood run cold. The choice she had thought was right had turned out to be wrong—and if her dreams are any indication, she has many more ahead of her. How can she trust herself anymore? How can she trust that the choices she makes will be for the best?

If her father orders her home—what then?

Her first reaction is immediate denial. They have come so far. They have traveled miles upon miles, weeks after weeks. How could they turn back now, after everything?

Riding up on Maximus with Eugene— Cassandra had insisted on riding with Varian with a cold sort of finality not even Eugene had dared question— Rapunzel leans forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his vest. She’s so drained that just thinking about it is enough to make heat prick her eyes.

She misses Corona, suddenly and fiercely. She misses those white kingdom walls, that shining silhouette of the capital city on the horizon. She misses the sprawling cobble streets and towering spires. She misses seeing the sun-crest, her people, Stan and Pete. She misses her mom and dad so terribly it is a physical ache deep in her chest.

Rapunzel wants to go home.

The longer they ride, the longer they stay here… the more she wants to turn back. Rapunzel is in pain, shaken to her core, guilty and afraid. She is weary of travel, of going no-where. In the distance she can see a dead land and dark mountain range, looming and terrible. How much farther to go? How much longer must she walk? Across this dead plain, over those mountains, and then what? When will it end?

It is late summer now, and soon it will be autumn. What happens if they find more mountains? Can they cross them before the early snowstorms hit? How long will Rapunzel be from her kingdom, her people, her home? The longer she goes forward, the longer it will take her to return.

She glares at the distant mountain range and wipes at her eyes, breathing heavily. A warm hand abruptly covers hers, squeezing her palm tightly. It startles her from her bad mood, and she glances up.

Eugene smiles down at her. As she watches him, he interlocks their fingers, his thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of her hand. His eyes are warm, his expression one of understanding. He squeezes her fingers and stays quiet.

Rapunzel is so thankful to him, so comforted to have him here with her, it nearly sends into tears. She knows he’s tired. She knows he’s as exhausted and as hurt as Cassandra is about this whole mess, but— he has given her time, he is being patient. He is letting her heal, even though he must have questions and doubts of his own, things he wishes to ask her. But instead he lets her be, lets her breathe and pull herself back together piece by piece, and Rapunzel has never loved him more than this moment.

She doesn’t deserve him, Rapunzel thinks. But oh, bless the Sun, for she is so happy to have him.

Rapunzel leans closer to him, curls her arms tighter around his waist. “Thank you, Eugene,” she whispers into his back. “Sorry I’ve been so difficult.”

He circles his thumb against her palms and hums thoughtfully. “We’ve all had our moments, this past week,” he tells her, voice low so only she can hear him. “It’s okay, Rapunzel.”

She shakes her head, forehead knocking on the rough fabric of his jacket. “I know it must be—frustrating.”

Eugene goes quiet for a long while, and then he exhales slowly, deep in thought. “Maybe a little,” he admits. “But mostly I’m just worried. I don’t understand what you’re thinking, or… what you’re afraid of.” She can hear the smile in his voice, wry and little bitter. “I’m not exactly used to being, ah… this useless, I guess.”

He fakes a laugh, at this, but he has never sounded further from happy.

His words hit her hard, and Rapunzel swallows with difficulty, her eyes burning behind her lids. “You’re not useless,” she says fiercely, gripping his waist in a bruising hug. “You _aren’t_ , not at all.”

She hadn’t known he’d felt this way, and it makes her feel even worse, to know that she is the cause of his distress. “It’s not your fault,” she tells him, and hopes that she is helping. “It’s not, it’s just—I’m a mess, right now, I’m _sorry_. It’s not your fault. It’s not you. You don’t… it’s not a, a _failure_ if you can’t help, it’s just that everything we’re facing is so much.”

“Maybe,” Eugene says. “And you’re right, of course, it’s just—I just wish I knew what was _wrong,_ Rapunzel. I wish you’d talk to me.”

“I mean,” Rapunzel starts, stuttering on the words, and swallows down her instinctive denial. No. He’s asking her to trust him, and she _does._ She does. “I don’t—I don’t really understand it all myself, I guess. I’m just scared. I don’t—I don’t know what to anymore. I don’t know which way to go, what path to choose…”

“Blondie?”

Rapunzel goes quiet, eyes distant. She stares out at the dead land stretching before them, not really seeing it. “Eugene,” she says, feeling hollow. “All this time, I’ve—I’ve been following my destiny. That’s what everyone says. That I’m following this road to the end, to—that fate. But...”

It feels almost treasonous to think it. To say it aloud, after everything that has happened, after how far they’ve gone. But her thoughts are real and tumbling, a hurricane in her head, and they are relentless in their assault.

“What if my destiny isn’t a good one?” Rapunzel forces out, and releases her held breath with a shuddering sigh. “What if it leads me somewhere I can’t bear to go? A—a place none of us can return from?”

“Rapunzel,” Eugene says, and then nothing else. He sounds like his heart is breaking.

“I’m scared,” Rapunzel admits. “I’m scared I’ll take the wrong path… that I’ll make the wrong choice. That what I find at the end—!”

_That what I’ll find will hurt me. Or worse._

_Hurt you._

She can’t finish, cannot even fathom it. She sucks in another shaking breath and buries her face into his coat. “I don’t know what to do,” Rapunzel admits quietly. Her father, the rocks, the dream by the crossroads. A choice that she is too afraid to make. “I just… don’t know anymore.”

Eugene twists over at that, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in a brief hug. “I get it,” he says, gentle as can be. “I really do. But… Blondie, whatever happens, whatever you choose, I—I believe in you. Even if… destiny, or fate, or this path—if they don’t turn out right, I have faith in you.” He squeezes her hand tight. “You see the good. You _fight_ for it.”

“And what if it’s not there?” Rapunzel whispers, so soft the words barely exist. “What if—what if I can’t find any?”

“Then you make it,” Eugene says, sounding determined. “That’s—Blondie, look, I’ll admit, maybe—maybe you get tripped up sometimes. Maybe you try so hard to see the good you miss the bad, sometimes, but that’s _human,_ Rapunzel, and… and even then. That, that quality you have? To see the good in everyone? Rapunzel, that isn’t a fault. It’s… it’s a virtue! I wish I could see the world the way you do. I wish I could have that much faith in it.”

“Eugene, I—”

“No, listen, please.” He sounds serious, pleading. “I just—look, I’m not a very… very um, religious or, faithful I guess, when it comes to like, destiny and the divine, okay? This whole, ‘follow the rocks to your destiny’ shtick? I don’t do that! Totally new territory!”

He twists around to cup her face, tilting up her chin so that she’ll meet his eyes. Rapunzel lets him, searching his face, trying to see what he sees. “But Rapunzel,” Eugene continues, warmth in his eyes and his voice, “you know what I _do_ believe in? You. I believe in you, and your strength, and… your heart, Rapunzel, because you care _so much._ And sometimes that hurts, I know it hurts, but I’ve found it also means you never give up. You always fight for the people you care about.”

“But I failed,” Rapunzel whispers, feeling fresh tears prick at her eyes. “With—with Varian. I messed up, I failed, and I was _so_ sure of myself, I was _so sure_ I was right then, and what if I…”

“We all fail,” Eugene says. “It’s—kinda what people do? But… even then, Rapunzel, no matter what you’ve gone through, you pick yourself up. You keep trying. You learn, and you adapt, and you hold onto that light regardless, and _that,_ Sunshine, _that_ is what you need to believe in. Not that whatever path lies ahead is a good one, because maybe, maybe it’s not! But you? Your strength?”

He shakes his head in disbelief at her doubt, his voice assured. “That’s all you’ve ever needed to make that happy ending, Blondie,” Eugene says firmly. “Yourself.”

Rapunzel wipes at her eyes and gives a weak laugh. “What—Eugene, what are you saying? Me, against destiny?”

Eugene doesn’t smile. His eyes are dark, serious as she has ever seen him. “Who knows? But if it does come to that… I know who I’ll be betting on.”

Rapunzel sucks in a deep breath, feeling like she could cry all over again, but for once it is not a bad feeling. She feels warm, secure, loved. She feels _happy_ , truly at peace for the first time since the attack, and she is so relieved to hear those words it makes her vision blurry. She doesn’t know if she can believe in that too, if she can have the same faith in herself, but to know this—that Eugene has weighed Rapunzel’s strength of heart against the pull of destiny, and decided Rapunzel would win regardless—it is a vote of confidence that leaves her breathless.

She leans against his back and wraps her arms around him in a bruising hug, hiding her teary face into his coat. She exhales slowly, relaxing against him, and feels him lean back against her, too. An embrace and support, all at once, and Rapunzel has never felt brighter. 

“Eugene?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He clears his throat. His voice is rough, shaking, made soft with affection. “I love you, too.”

Rapunzel closes her eyes and smiles against his back, and lets the swaying of the horse lull her into sleep. When she wakes, they will set up camp, prepare for dinner, settle down for another long night. Rapunzel will talk to Cassandra then. She has made such a mess of things, but she can do this—deal with one knot at a time, mistake by mistake, setting things right inch by inch. Maybe she still can’t look Varian in the eye, but Cassandra is not Varian. She is Rapunzel’s friend, and Rapunzel… she owes it to Cassandra, and all she had done for her, to try and make things right.

 _You fight for it,_ Eugene had said, and he is not wrong. Things are a mess right now, but—there is still a chance for them all, a chance to make things better. Rapunzel is not done fighting, not yet, not ever.

But that is later, and for now Rapunzel rests, secure and supported in the hold of the man she loves.

-

She waits until after dinner to try and talk to Cassandra, waits until Eugene has gone into feigned sleep and Varian has been chained up for the night.

(The sight makes her stomach curdle, her toes curl. _Isn’t that unnecessary?_ some part of her whispers, _isn’t that too much,_ but then—is it?

She thinks of arrows and blank faces and blood on pale fingers. Rapunzel stays quiet.)

When Cassandra makes her way back to the main camp, Rapunzel is already sitting up. They don’t have wood for fires, haven’t seen trees all week, let alone branches, and so their small camp is lit by their lanterns, if only to give them some semblance of warmth and light. Its glow is small, and wavering, fading into the endless dark and glinting off the black rocks—both the path and the stray spikes that sprout around them. Perhaps it is because of the emptiness of this land, but the black rocks look to have become more frequent here, more wide-spread. They loom tall and foreboding in the night, dark and formless shapes in the darkness, illuminated by only the moon.

In the dim lantern-light, it is hard to see Cassandra, but it isn’t hard to hear her. Rapunzel waits to hear the sound of boots against dusty rocks and turns her head in that direction, sending a faint smile Cassandra’s way.

“Hey, Cass. …Um, can we talk?”

She can’t see Cassandra’s face all that well—the lanterns are bright, but they can only reach so far, and they haven’t the same light as a fire—but she thinks Cassandra might sigh, a little, and then she steps closer, into the lantern glow. It casts strange shadows on her face, in her eyes, but after only a second of hesitation she settles beside Rapunzel on the ground.

“Sure,” Cassandra says. Her voice is soft, the venom from last night faded. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too.”

Rapunzel picks at a loose thread in her clothes. “The— letter?”

Cassandra winces, but doesn’t turn away. “Sent it out two days ago,” she says finally, sounding cautious. “Look, Rapunzel—”

“I’m sorry for walking off,” Rapunzel interrupts, speaking in a rush. “I wasn’t— _angry,_ I mean, maybe a little? But it wasn’t you, okay? It’s just, everything that’s happened this past week, with Varian and—and even this _stupid_ journey, and we’re running out of rations and you keep trying to hide it but I _know_ you’re afraid we won’t have enough food to make it across the plain and—”

“Rapunzel.”

Rapunzel takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just— _everything_ , you know? I—I don’t know what to do about of any of it, and I miss home, and I hate this road _so much,_ and I can’t seem to do anything right—and, and when you asked me that, I just… didn’t. Want to deal with that. So.” She exhales heavily, hands shaking. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have said it like that,” she admits softly. “I shouldn’t have avoided you, either. I guess I just— felt the same, I guess. I was upset with myself, and I took that out on… well, everyone.”

Rapunzel forces a smile, looking down at her hands. She twists her fingers together, unlocks them, tangles them again. “Just at yourself?” she asks quietly.

“I guess— I guess I _was_ little angry at you, too,” Cassandra admits. “Am. Am a little angry. I just— damn it. Raps, why didn’t you _tell_ us what you were planning? Tell me?”

“I thought it would be better,” Rapunzel confesses, whispering the words. “If—if you weren’t there. Because this was _my_ problem, you know? And I thought, if I went there alone, he’d know I was serious about what I meant.” Her voice trails off. “And. I didn’t— I didn’t know what would happen. At worst, I thought he would—I don’t know. Yell at me, maybe? Not… _this._ ”

She waves a helpless hand and grits her teeth. “I didn’t want you guys getting angry for me. You—and Eugene, you both— Varian was talking to you more, you guys were trusting him more, and I was _so happy to see that!_ I didn’t want to screw it up.” She swallows hard. “Did a fantastic job of that, didn’t I?”

Cassandra doesn’t laugh at the poor joke, and Rapunzel closes her eyes, exhaling slowly. Her shoulders sink with the sound, head bowing. “Yeah,” she concludes sadly. “I should have told you two. I’m sorry I didn’t, Cass. I really, really am. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I trusted you,” Cassandra says, but she sounds spent, aching and betrayed. “You wanted us to give Varian a chance and I _tried,_ Raps, I did it for you! And then you didn’t… you didn’t trust me. I put so much faith in you, and you didn’t even bother to—to _tell_ me? To warn me? _Anything?_ ”

“It was stupid,” Rapunzel admits, swallowing down another wave of apologies. “It was stupid and it was dumb and—and I wasn’t ready, and he wasn’t ready, and it all just blew up in our faces. I should have told you. I should have trusted you and I should have let you help me.”

She takes a breath and meets Cassandra’s eyes. “I—I made a mistake, Cass, and it hurt you. I... I didn't trust you, and I should have. I’m sorry. I… I _promise_ you, right here, I won’t _ever_ do that again.”

Cassandra goes quiet at this, blinking rapidly, looking caught off-guard by the sheer force of Rapunzel’s words. At long last, some unseen tension in her shoulders falls away. She slumps, looking fatigued, but some of the anger has left her face. 

“Well,” Cassandra sighs. “At least you had good intentions about it, I guess.” She reaches out and loops her arm around Rapunzel’s shoulders. “I’m still pissed. But—yeah. I get it. That’s you, after all. But you better believe I’m holding you to that promise, Raps.”

Rapunzel leans into the embrace, blinking fast. “Thanks, Cass,” she whispers. “Are we— okay now? Are you okay?”

“…Yeah. We’re okay. I’m okay.” Cassandra rubs at her arm. “I haven’t really asked it back, have I?” she murmurs gently. “Rapunzel. Are _you_ okay? After… what happened.”

Rapunzel goes quiet. “Not really,” she admits, feeling ashamed at the admission. “I’m—n-no. No. Not really.”

Cassandra looks distinctly uncomfortable with this territory, but she squeezes Rapunzel’s side with a firm hug. “Okay,” she says. “I’m going to—take a page of Eugene’s book, apparently. You can’t ever tell him I did this, all right?”

A weak smile tugs at Rapunzel’s lips. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Okay. Taking that as agreement. But— Raps, what happened… it wasn’t— the way it ended. It wasn’t your fault.”

Rapunzel’s heart drops. “You don’t know that,” she says, feeling suddenly cold. “You don’t even know what happened or—what I said. Because I—I said things I shouldn’t have, and—”

“Let’s be honest here, _Varian_ probably wasn’t all that nice during the whole thing either,” Cassandra says. “But fine. If you won’t accept that, then—how it _ended_? That’s not your fault. No matter what you may have said.”

“Cass, please—”

“What, Raps? What are you going to say? If you were going to go up to him now, what would you even tell him? Sorry for apologizing? Sorry for caring? Sorry for—hell, making you try to stab me with an arrow?”

“Cass,” Rapunzel says in warning, voice rising, “if I hadn’t talked to him—”

“Alone, talking to him alone, now that was a dumb idea,” Cassandra says. “But— _talking_ to him? Raps, I don’t _like_ it, but—you were trying to move on. To put things behind you. That’s not—bad, that’s… you. You chose to try and make amends, and he decided to _stab you._ That’s on him. That was his choice! You can’t apologize for his choices, you can’t— take the blame for them. I told you before, remember? What he does, it isn’t your problem.”

The words strike a chord with Rapunzel, an unintentional echo that sends shivers down her spine. For a moment, reality grays out, and in the dim lantern-light Rapunzel can almost see that swirling fog, the obscured world beyond the veil, the crossroads and all it signifies.

_Whatever you decide, it has to be your choice._

_It has to be you._

“It was his choice,” Rapunzel whispers. Something in her heart sinks. “Oh. Oh.”

Cassandra looks alarmed at her sudden shift in tone. “What? What is it?”

“It’s—nothing,” Rapunzel says, shaking off the memory, inhaling the cold night air deeply to try and ground herself back in the here and now. “You just… You reminded me of something I heard before, in… in a dream.”

Cassandra quiets, eyes darting across Rapunzel’s face, mouth pressing in a thin line. Then she sighs and shakes her head, taking the change in subject gracefully. She presses Rapunzel to her side in a firm one-armed hug, a silent understanding. “A dream? What kind of dream?”

Rapunzel is so grateful for the change is topic, so grateful Cassandra has let their conversation go, that it almost makes her dizzy. “It—depends? I’m walking a stone path, _the_ path, actually, and there’s this— _fog_ , this dreadful fog, everywhere I look. And. Varian, too.”

“Sounds like a pretty awful dream,” Cassandra says bluntly.

Her frankness makes Rapunzel laugh, wipe at her eyes. “Oh!” Rapunzel says, feeling weak-kneed. “Oh, Cass, I’ve missed you.”

It’s maybe a weird thing to say, since in truth none of them have really gone anywhere, but… this past week, with everything, Cassandra has never felt quite so distant. Her cynicism, her blunt way of speaking, her sharp mind and quick wit—the absence of it had felt like the loss of something so much greater. Rapunzel is so used to having Cassandra by her side that to look over and not see her there… the absence had struck her like a knife to the gut.

Perhaps Cassandra feels the same, because she doesn’t question the strange comment, barely blinks. “Me too,” she says instead, smiling warmly, and Rapunzel leans against her side, returning her hug happily.

She’ll have to thank Eugene, Rapunzel thinks absently, squeezing Cassandra in the most bruising bear hug she can muster, so happy she can feel tears prick her eyes. He was right all along. There is always still good, still a chance, if they are willing to fight for it.

Rapunzel sniffs, finally pulling back, beaming fit to burst. They are together again, they are all right, and suddenly Rapunzel just wants to _talk_ with her, wants to sit down in this lamp-light and chat until her voice goes hoarse.

“Cass! Did I ever tell you about my map?”

“Your map?” Cassandra repeats, blinking at her. She acts unaffected by their reunion, but her eyes are shining suspiciously, and her smile is the brightest Rapunzel has ever seen. “What map?”

“A few weeks ago, when we were staying at the ruins, I drew a map of it,” Rapunzel explains, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “I meant to show it to you earlier, actually. I just got—preoccupied.”

Which is one way of putting it. Cassandra had been tracking the bandit group, so Rapunzel had barely seen her during their time there, and then after… after, Rapunzel had decided to talk to Varian, and her desire to show off her map had faded, drowned out by her frantic thoughts on how, exactly, she was going to go about _that._

In hindsight, Rapunzel thinks, talking about the map with Cassandra would probably have been the infinitely better option of the two, but… well. The past is past. She has time now, and Rapunzel refuses to waste it worrying. Not right now.

Cassandra must be thinking similar, because she smiles at Rapunzel, for once indulging in the fun. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it now,” she offers with a knowing sort of smirk, and Rapunzel beams at her, flying up her feet.

“It’s in my journal, I’ll show you, the ruins were _fantastic_ —”

“Raps, wait.”

She stops, turning around again, blinking in surprise at the sudden note of seriousness. Cassandra has risen to her feet.

“Just, before that,” Cassandra says. “I just wanted to say, about the letter… If—when the king’s reply comes. No matter what it says, I’m with you. No matter what you decide, no matter how angry I am, or... I’ll follow you always. No matter what. I—I hope you know that.”

Rapunzel doesn’t answer right away. She is stunned into silence by the words, caught-off-guard by this display of loyalty. She has always known, of course, that Cassandra would choose Rapunzel. She has simply never heard Cassandra say in quite this way—choosing Rapunzel, over the King.

“Thank you, Cass,” Rapunzel says finally, voice rough. “That— that means… That means a lot.”

Cassandra smiles at her, soft and bright, and sits back on the ground. “Cool. Okay. Just so we’re clear.” She pauses, then clears her throat. “You can show me that map now.”

Rapunzel bursts into laughter, returning to her bag. She digs through the pack for her book, tugging it free, heading back over to the campfire. “It’s in here,” she tells Cassandra, handing her the journal to browse through while Rapunzel resettles. As Rapunzel checks on the lamplight, she can see Cassandra flip through the pages in the corner of her eye. “Probably somewhere near the middle?”

She sees Cassandra has stopped, and turns with a smile. “Found it? I thought you’d like this, but that right side, by the more… west-side tower mark, there’s these barracks I think once belonged to the soldiers, and—”

Cassandra is frowning at the page, looking puzzled. Rapunzel trails off. “…Cass? What is it?”

“This,” Cassandra says finally, turning the book to Rapunzel. “What’s this? Where did you find it?”

On the page, the strange symbol Rapunzel had found in the mirror of her tower stares back at her. The circle bisected by three straight lines, inked dark and heavy, taking up the whole page.

“O-oh,” Rapunzel says, feeling suddenly shaken at the reminder. “That’s, um—a symbol I found there, just—um, y’know… around. I figured was probably the city’s crest or, or something similar…?”

Cassandra doesn’t look appeased by this answer. She bites her lower lip between her teeth, brow furrowed. “Did… did you find it on the door of one of those city border towers?”

Rapunzel goes cold. “N-no. I mean—the tower didn’t have a door,” she says, feeling strangely distant. “I found it in the most intact one, the south-side tower, over…over the mantle, Cass, what… how did you—?”

Cassandra turns to her. “I thought you’d seen it,” she says, looking serious. “It was the tower me and Max kept passing by, when we went to check on the bandits— I mean, the outer door, that was broken, but leading up to the stairs, I saw—” She stands up. “Maybe it’s better if I show you. One second.”

Rapunzel waits with baited breath, and when Cassandra finally returns, takes the offered paper gingerly. “This is…?”

“A trace I took of it,” Cassandra says. “I wanted to show my dad, like a souvenir of sorts. I didn’t know…”

Rapunzel isn’t listening anymore. She stares down at the page, uncomprehending, eyes darting across the trace. “I… I don’t understand.”

On the paper, outlined in heavy chalk, a stylized sun stares back at her. Corona’s sun. Corona’s crest.

“I don’t understand,” Rapunzel says again. “Those ruins—they, they were _ancient!_ They were older than even the castle, than—Corona! How…?”

“I thought maybe those ruins, that whatever city it was might’ve been the precursor to Corona,” Cassandra admits. “In hindsight, maybe not my brightest idea, but… I never thought there’d be another crest. Or symbol. If it’s _not_ Corona’s great-great-ancestor or whatever…”

“…Then why was it _there?”_ Rapunzel whispers, feeling a chill run down her spine. Oh, certainly, there are some differences. The sun traced on the paper is longer, the edges furling out like fern leaves, sharp lines like sunlight bursting out behind it. But the similarities… they are uncanny, undeniable. Like the tower in the ruins and Rapunzel’s own childhood home, the resemblance is too great to be denied.

Cassandra touches her shoulder, looking concerned. “Rapunzel? You look… ill. What’s wrong? It’s just a weird mystery, it’s not anything serious, so why do you look so…?” She trails off, sounding frustrated, worry clear in her dark green eyes.

Rapunzel turns away, still feeling shaken, a little ashamed by her strong reaction. For a moment, she almost fancies telling Cassandra about the tower, but when she opens her mouth the words lock in her throat.

Rapunzel squeezes her eyes shut, exhaling heavily, feeling sick. “I—I don’t know,” she says finally, guilt stabbing like a knife into her gut. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Cass, Rapunzel tells herself. It’s that she doesn’t even know if she’s right.  “I just— I just can’t help but feel we’re getting close. To the end. To—to a choice.”

_You are running out of time._

Cassandra’s face is blank, lacking in understanding. And why would she understand? It is one thing to follow a path; entirely another, to dream and be warned of it. She doesn’t know what weight this destiny has placed on Rapunzel’s shoulders, she doesn’t know in full the danger that could come of it.

“And…what?” Cassandra says uncomprehendingly, eyes searching Rapunzel’s face, struggling to find the truth. “You think those ruins… what, that these weird symbols have something to do with it?”

Her disbelief is faint, but still there. Rapunzel wishes she felt the same. But she is certain—certain in a terrible, unnatural way, so certain that it leaves her cold with terror.

“I don’t know,” Rapunzel repeats. She swallows hard and shakes her head. She can almost hear the echo of a dream in her ears. “But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

-

Two days later, Owl returns with the King’s missive.

Cassandra looks uncharacteristically uncertain as she unclips the letter from Owl’s leg, the small bird wheezing heavily from his rapid flight. The poor thing must have flown non-stop to get to them so quickly, and Cassandra strokes his head as she tugs the missive free from the pouch, a rare show of affection.

They are riding over the last of the hills before they reach the main plain—a stretch of dead ground, home to only a few scatterings of the black rocks, that appears to go from the base of this hill all the way to that distant dark mountain. Owl reaches them before they crest the top.

Rapunzel turns in her saddle at Owl’s arrival, stomach pinching. She stays deliberately silent, watching Cassandra’s face for a reaction.

She finds nothing, which is of no surprise—no-one has a better poker face than Cassandra. In a way, though, that is also telling. There is no joy in Cassandra’s face, no break in her mask. In her dark eyes Rapunzel sees not relief but instead acceptance, resignation.

After a long moment of quiet, Cassandra looks up and passes Rapunzel the letter.

Rapunzel unfurls it gingerly, feeling dread pool in her gut. Her father’s neat and no-nonsense handwriting is familiar to her eyes. His written words are the coldest she’s ever seen printed on paper.

_Return to the Kingdom of Corona at once, by direct order of the King. If you have not returned by the coming autumn, it will be regarded as an act of treason._

Rapunzel releases her held breath in a long and shaky sigh. “Well. That is…”

“Bad,” Eugene finishes, reading over her shoulder, sounding hushed. “Oh, damn. He knows you’re going to read this, right?”

Rapunzel purses her lips, pressing them into a thin line. “I think,” she says carefully, staring at the paper, “that was perhaps the point.”

Eugene winces, but doesn’t deny it.

On Fidella, Cassandra shifts in the saddle, looking uncertain. In front of her, Varian is limp and unresponsive, staring blankly at the ground. Every once in a while, his eyes flicker across to them, but his interest is thin and non-existent, eyes dead.

“Raps,” Cassandra says, very softly. “It’s your choice.”

Rapunzel clenches her jaw. “I won’t let you and Eugene get branded as—as  _traitors_ just for—”

“Rapunzel,” Eugene says gently, cutting her off. His hand touches at her lower back, supporting, bracing. She turns in the saddle, looking up at him, searching his face. Eugene just smiles. He looks sad, almost, but mostly he just looks resolved. “Are we heading back? Or do we keep going?”

From the corner of her eye, Rapunzel can see Varian’s head lift up slightly, a prick of interest at these words, as the situation becomes clear to him. She can feel his eyes on her back like a needle running down her spine.

She ignores Varian best she can, glaring up at Eugene. “I _told you,_ I won’t—”

“And I told you,” Cassandra says, drawing Rapunzel’s attention to her. “No matter what. Rapunzel, it’s your choice. This was—this whole journey, it was always your choice. It has to be you. _Tell us_ what to do! We’ll do it.”

Rapunzel looks between them, heart aching. Cassandra is resolute. Eugene is, too. Even Varian—head raised, eyes for once awake, fixed on her. Silent, but she knows what he is thinking. He has always been the most vocal against going back. Always the one to push onwards.

_Stop running, Rapunzel._

_It has to be you._

Rapunzel closes her eyes. She thinks of home. She thinks of Corona. She thinks of her mom and dad and the white walls of the castle. She thinks of lanterns in a night sky and people’s faces glowing with warmth and joy when they see her. She thinks of the people, of the ladies-in-waiting and the cook, of the thugs in the Snuggly Duckling and the sisters who taught her to braid. She thinks of Varian, of how he used to be, of Old Corona and what her father let it become.

Rapunzel rolls up her father’s missive, hiding those cold and unfeeling words from view. He knows her well, her father. He knows the one thing that could ensure her return is to threaten the two people she holds dearest to her heart. But he has also taught her too well, through his mistakes and through his own words. Rapunzel is a Queen-to-be, and she will not do as her father has. She will not abandon her people.

Rapunzel takes the rolled missive, and very carefully tears it in two. Then she tears it again, and then a third time, growing angrier with each motion. She tears it a fourth time, a fifth time, a sixth—until the pieces are so small she cannot possible tear it apart any more.

She opens her palms. Torn paper flutters down from her fingers, falling flat in this wind-less land, landing gently on the dead grass. Rapunzel breathes in, breathes out, drawing on her anger, on her strength. She pulls herself upright, holds her head high and her shoulders straight with all the grace of a Queen.

“We go forward,” she says, and her voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t break. She feels much stronger, suddenly. More sure of herself. “We keep going. We find the end, no matter what.”

Eugene nods. Cassandra meets Rapunzel’s eyes and inclines her head, a silent agreement and silent support. Neither of them smiles, but it is there, in their eyes and lurking in the things they aren’t saying. They knew what choice she would make, Rapunzel realizes. They probably knew it all along—they know her best, after all. They simply wanted Rapunzel to know it too.

It’s an easy choice, all things considered. But perhaps that is the point. It’s an easy choice, but it is the right one, the only thing that _feels_ right in her heart. It’s a choice she can believe in, a choice she can be confident about.

They have done this for her, in a way, and Rapunzel could cry, she is so grateful. She is so glad she isn’t here alone. She is so achingly relieved they are here with her. She can face anything, she knows, so long as they are by her side.

If she can make this choice… her mind casts back to the dream, to the crossroads. Perhaps, Rapunzel thinks. Perhaps.

“The end?”

Rapunzel freezes. She feels suddenly chilly, as if dunked in icy water, her heart in her throat. Eugene’s hand tightens on her shoulder. She can see Cassandra’s expression go stony.

_Varian._

She turns slowly, reluctantly. There is a vice-like grip around her heart, a pinch in her gut. A chill that has nothing to do with the wind and a dryness in her mouth that is not from thirst. She swallows hard, and breathes in, trying to keep her face impassive as she looks at him.

“What was that?”

Rapunzel has not looked at Varian directly in over a week, let alone spoken to him. To see him now throws her, reminds her vividly of that twilight and the events by the firepit. It is startling, to see how unchanged he is, and yet he still seems so different.

His hair has always been long, but now it hangs in stringy clumps, worn from rough washing to get out the blood. He is pale, a sickly pale, a colorlessness that is unnatural and alarming to see. In a borrowed shirt of Eugene’s and a spare pair of draw-string pants, bandages wrapped thick around his leg and his injured ear, he has never looked smaller, never looked so unlike himself. It as if someone has taken that foul-mouthed angry teenager and replaced him with a ghost.

How strange it is, that one night can change a person so drastically, when one month ebbed by so slowly. How heartbreaking.

Varian is not looking at Rapunzel—instead his dull eyes are fixed into the distance, staring out over the dead plain and the mountain beyond it. “The end,” he says again. His voice is very soft, hoarse and rasping in a way that has to be painful, but Varian seems to take no notice of it. “You said… the end of the path.”

“So?” Cassandra snaps, voice unfriendly, and Varian just barely flinches, eyelids fluttering closed before he opens them again, turning to Rapunzel. He looks confused, almost, or scornful, disbelieving of her ignorance or perhaps annoyed at it.

“Don’t you see it?”

Rapunzel shakes her head, confused, hating to look at him and despising the way he can’t seem to look at her, either. “I don’t—I don’t understand what you mean.”

“The end,” Varian says, for a third time. “It’s… it’s right there.”

“I—what do you—?”

“The mountain,” Varian says slowly, like every word is taking a strength he barely has. “It’s right there. It’s not right. It doesn’t look right. And the rocks…” His voice trembles on the word, then hardens. “The rocks. They’re everywhere. Too far beyond the path. Can’t you _see_ it?”

Rapunzel stares at him, and then whirls around, rummaging in her side pack. “Max, bring us to the top of the hill, I need—” 

Maximus doesn’t even wait for her to finish, galloping up to the crest of the hill without any prompting from her or Eugene. Rapunzel yanks her spyglass from her bag with shaking fingers, terror climbing up her throat. It’s too soon. It’s too soon, she’s not ready, she can’t be out of time, not yet—

 _Please,_ Rapunzel thinks, or maybe prays, though she is not sure who she is praying to. _Please, not yet. I need more time. I’m not ready to go. I don’t know if my choice is the right one, **please** —_

She unrolls the spyglass, holds it to her eye. Her hand is trembling so badly she can barely hold it steady. She can’t breathe right, every breath a gasp, a desperate fight for air. She is so scared she can barely think.

At first, she doesn’t see it. Even up close, it looks as it appears: a mountain, tall and dark and looming. And then Rapunzel squints, tilts her head—and suddenly she can see how ragged the edges are, how dark it still appears, even though at this distance it should no longer be a silhouette.

It is not a mountain at all, Rapunzel realizes suddenly, dread pooling in her stomach. It has never been a mountain. It is stone. Black stone, to be precise, the same stone now beneath her feet and spearing up from this barren wasteland, the rocks she has followed for over a month now.

And oh, it is not just one. It is millions, millions upon millions of those deadly spires, piling top of one another, layering in such a way that even Corona’s capital city would pale before its great size. It is so tall and so vast that she cannot even be ashamed for mistaking it as a mountain range. Only at this height, upon this last hill, can she finally see it in full—a towering alp made of millions of shiny black rocks and a terrifying white crystal looming like a nightmare horizon behind it.

In the lens of her spyglass, it is just barely visible, a pinprick compared to the great mountain surrounding it. But Rapunzel is certain it is there. A vast mountain of deadly rock… and a tower, the Moon’s tower, standing tall in the center of it all, speared through and held suspended over the rest of the world like the blade of a guillotine.

The mountain in the distance has never been a mountain. Rapunzel had simply mistaken it for such. Now she can see it for what it is. The Moon’s tower. The end of the path. Her crossroads, come to life.

Rapunzel has run out of time.

-

It takes them another two days to reach the tower.

Varian spends most of the journey in a daze. Most days are still strange to him—time slips by too quickly and yet, so slowly it is almost agonizing, days changing within moments, hours dragging on into ages. It takes all he has to keep moving, to move at all. He rarely speaks—rarely has the energy or thought to try. He doesn’t look at Rapunzel, tries his best not to look for Ruddiger.

If not for the tower—the makeshift mountain and what it signifies—Varian doesn’t know if he’d be moving at all. Even now, almost there, only another half-hour walk to the base… every step of Fidella’s hooves sends his head spinning, his chest aching. He feels stuffy and hot despite the icy wind blowing on his face.

He blinks hard and tries his best to focus. The rocks, the end of the path. Answers. One last chance to save his dad. He has to be awake, he has to be aware, he has to see this through. Just this. This one last thing. Even if Varian is falling apart, he’d still sworn that oath. _No matter what. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do._

Dad is counting on him. 

Barely another ten minutes later, they hit their first snag. About a mile out from the base of the makeshift mountain, all of the animals start acting strangely. The horses stutter to a stop. Fidella whinnies lowly, and even Maximus suddenly looks ill, nickering loudly and shuffling on his hooves, sending Eugene and Rapunzel swaying up on the saddle. Pascal hides behind Rapunzel’s hair, and Ruddiger, catching a ride in Maximus’s saddle bag, ducks his head under the bag flap, shivering.

Worry pricks at Varian’s heart. He takes a breath and looks away, shoving it down.

“Woah, woah!” Rapunzel says, pulling back on Maximus’s reins. She is sitting in front of Eugene, at last well enough to ride again without the others throwing a fuss. She slides off the saddle and Varian eyes her dully, watching listlessly as she walks around to Maximus’s front.

 _She_ seems to be doing fine, he thinks, with a sudden burst of bitterness. Moving and walking and even smiling, while Varian— Varian is—

The bitterness fades, too exhausting to maintain. Of _course_ she’s fine. Of course she’s happy again. That is just the way it works, isn’t it? The perfect princess with her perfect family and her perfect life. Nothing ever _sticks,_ and really, why should it?

Her best friend by her side, parents and a lover and a whole kingdom to adore her. Everyone loves Rapunzel, everyone is just raring to defend her. With all that good, why would _she_ feel bad?

A spike of pain from his ear makes him wince, and he turns away, unable to look at her.

“Woah, careful now,” Rapunzel is saying, voice gentle. She has both hands on Maximus’s face, searching the horse’s dark eyes. She’s frowning, concern furrowing her brow. “What’s wrong, Max? What is it?”

Maximus nickers at her, looking as guilty as a horse can get. His hooves stamp hard on the ground, sending up puffs of thick dust. His head shakes, mane flying, and with a low whine he steps back, head bowing.

“Max?” Eugene asks, leaning over the saddle. Varian stiffens at the sound of Eugene’s voice, very carefully not looking at him. Still, in the corner of his eye, he can see Eugene’s alarmed expression, eyes wide and eyebrows turned up in concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

Maximus goes still. He nickers again, angrier this time, shaking his head, mane flying.

“Maximus?”

 All at once, the horse bursts out into a flurry of noise and motion. Maximus charges forward, rising up on his rear legs and pawing angrily at the air, braying loudly and furiously at nothing.

Still on the saddle, Eugene yelps, scrambling for a hold on the reins before he can fall backward off the horse. Rapunzel cries out too, stumbling away in shock, just barely missing being hit by Maximus’s frantic hooves. The horse lands heavy on the ground, almost whining, head shaking viciously, lurching like a drunk man. On Rapunzel’s shoulder, Pascal has turned a sickly white. Ruddiger’s saddlebag shakes so badly it is impossible to ignore.

“They can’t go,” Varian says. His voice rasps, hoarse from thirst and disuse, and he coughs, head spinning at the motion. His injured ear throbs.

When he glances up again, all eyes are on him. He doesn’t look at them—at any of them. None of them are safe to look at. Not Eugene, whose words still ring in Varian’s ears with a terrible finality; not Cassandra, who sits before him, who treats him like dirt on her shoe; not Rapunzel, who pretends he isn’t even here. He looks at the saddlebag instead, where Ruddiger is hiding, afraid and trembling.

“They can’t go,” he repeats, heart twisting in his chest. He swallows heavily, tasting blood in the back of his throat. “They’re—they’re afraid of something. It’s hurting them.”

No one speaks. In the silence, Maximus’s distressed whines are terribly loud, awful and heart-wrenching even to Varian.

“I can’t see anything that might be spooking them,” Eugene says finally, each word said with care. Varian inhales sharply and grits his teeth at the dismissal, not sure if he is more furious or hurt— “but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Varian pauses. His jaw unclenches, and he breathes a bit easier.

“You’re right,” Rapunzel tells Eugene, ignoring Varian as thoroughly as Varian is ignoring her. She looks to Maximus. The horse stares back, looking a mix of furious and tortured, panting and in pain. “You were trying to fight, weren’t you, Max? To go with us?”

Maximus brays lowly and gives a miserable nod. Rapunzel brushes her hands through the horse’s mane, lips tight with empathy. “Thank you for taking us all this way, Max,” she says, soft. Her voice is shaking, and she is blinking fast. “It’s okay. You can leave us here.” 

The horse nickers, shakes his head, but Rapunzel shakes hers too.

“No,” she says, with finality. “You’ve done so much, Max. You’ve carried us all the way here and you’ve warned us about what’s ahead best you could. Thank you. _Thank you._ I couldn’t bear to ask any more of you.” She raises her hand, cups Pascal with her fingers, a careful comfort and hug. Then she lifts the trembling chameleon off her shoulder and places him on Maximus’s head. “Take him,” she tells the horse. “And take care of each other. With luck, we’ll return very soon.”

Pascal flicks his tongue at Rapunzel’s face, drawing out a smile. Behind them, Eugene disembarks from the saddle, taking one supply bag to throw over his shoulder, the frying pan and stray sword strapped to his waist. He pats Maximus’s head and moves to stand with Rapunzel.

Cassandra slips off the saddle too, not looking at Varian. He looks around at them and then sighs, resigned to their walking. He slides carefully off Fidella’s saddle, not asking for help, not looking for it. They wouldn’t give it, anyway. Eugene and Cassandra—they have made their feelings clear. And Rapunzel—

He shudders, for a moment flashing back. An arrow, a terrible pain, Ruddiger. Confusion and guilt and why, why does he still feel guilty, he  _must_ have had a reason…

No, no, he can’t think about this now. He _can’t._ The answers are so close. One last chance. He can’t break now, he can’t break again, he can’t mess this up. Dad is counting on him. It doesn’t matter what Varian is feeling, what he has to go through—it doesn’t matter at all, so long as he can get his dad back by the end of it.

_Don’t think about it._

In his hands, the iron ball seems to weigh more than usual, made all the heavier with Varian’s growing weakness. His chains rattle when he climbs off the saddle, jangle obnoxiously as he steps warily to the ground. His boots are gone, taken away after his stunt with the arrow, and dust cakes in-between his bare toes when he steps down to the dirt.

Even this slight movement is enough to send his head ringing, and Varian digs his nails into his skin to stave off the sudden dizziness, the stab of pain through his skull. After a moment he steadies himself. He doesn’t unclench his fist.

“Everyone ready?” Eugene calls. He has a pack slung over his shoulder, as do Cassandra and Rapunzel. Varian doesn’t bother to take his—all it has are bloody clothes and shoes he isn’t allowed to wear. What would be the point?

They leave the animals behind there, in the middle of the dead plain, the horses’ heads dropping and Pascal a mix of murky colors. The others—they walk slowly, reluctantly, but they don’t look back. Varian follows behind them, separate and yet close enough that they can’t call him out on it. He is so aware of Cassandra’s piercing gaze it makes his skin crawl.

Varian looks back just once.

Maximus and Fidella are slowly making their way to the last hill, turned away from their group, heads lowered in shame and exhaustion. He can barely see Pascal from this distance—a small lump on Maximus’s saddle, turned a dull and dusty yellow-white. But is it not them that Varian cares about. It is not them he is looking for.

Ruddiger has poked his head out of the saddle bag. The raccoon’s tiny black eyes are fixed on Varian, head swaying with the rocking of Maximus’s trot. His small face is bunched in misery, and his stare never wavers.

Varian looks away first, and doesn’t look back again. There is an oppressive heat pricking behind his sore eyes, and Varian blinks fast to keep the tears at bay. He feels suddenly worn-out, suddenly weak, his steps faltering.

_Why? Why would you turn against me?_

It is Rapunzel’s fault, of course, Rapunzel’s actions that brought about that conversation and resulted in Ruddiger turning on him. It must be. But Varian can’t help but remember that no, Rapunzel hadn’t been doing anything in that second, she’s been laid on the ground and staring up, pale and afraid…

He feels abruptly sick. He trips on the ground and only just catches himself, sharp discomfort stabbing up his injured leg.

Weak, Varian chastises himself. Weak, weak, weak. He shouldn’t have looked back. Don’t look back again. He can’t afford to doubt himself, not now, not _here,_ not when he only minutes away from the end. Stupid, stupid boy, doesn’t he want to make his dad proud?

He’s so close. It is the only left to keep him going. He is so, so close.

They are so near to the mountain, in fact, that Varian cannot even see the Moon’s tower anymore. The closer they get to the make-shift mountain, the harder it is to see. He has caught glimpses of it as they approached, these past two days—a small, rather modest building for a tower, old but sturdy, speared through on multiple sides and swallowed whole by the black rocks. It is just that the closer they get, the more the mountain conceals it. The gathering of black rocks is so thick that the peak is impossible to see from the ground, and the tower with it.

Never has Varian seen so many of the black rocks in one place. Not even Old Corona can compare. The rocks stand at every turn, spike at every corner. The closer they get, the more difficult it becomes to maneuver through the stone. They have reached what looked like the mountain base, from the hill, but down here it is more like a forest. A forest of tall and deadly rocks spiking every which way, the gaps growing smaller with their every step.

At last, their small group can go no further.

Here, the rocks have sprouted so tall and so close they might as well _be_ a mountainside. There is no gap between their edges, the space between them so small it would be a challenge for Varian to even poke his finger through. They shoot up straight into the sky, high enough that Varian has to crane back his neck to see them, towers in their own right. They engulf up the Moon’s tower entirely, encircling it for miles around, keeping their group locked to the fringes.

There is no way around the rocks that Varian can see, no gap to slip through. The rocks in this section are colossal in height and width, and even the idea of climbing over is laughable at best. They are well and truly stuck.

Varian steps away, feeling uneasy. They have been locked out, and yet… that cannot be right. Isn’t this where they are supposed to go?

Above their heads, the sky is dark and stormy. It is midday, and yet, the light in this land is gray and faded, even the day has turned stale. It is as if the sun has died—nighttime in the middle of the day, like the world has ended in the blink of an eye when they weren’t paying attention. There is no wind here, no trees, nothing but the dead ground and the unbreakable rock.

Something cold runs down Varian’s spine.

This is a dead world. This is a place they shouldn’t be. For the first time he catches a sense of what the animals must have felt, their fear at this lifeless place. The air is heavy and unmoving, pressing down on his shoulders, cold despite the summer month. The world aches with tension and anticipation.

In the black rocks he can see his reflection, his own fear mirrored back at him. He shivers, and draws away.

He is not the only one suddenly affected. Cassandra is pale, sweat on her brow, lips tight with what might be fear. Eugene sways on his feet.

Rapunzel is the worst of them. She has wrapped her arms around herself in a make-shift hug, gasping faintly as if she has suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her eyes are far-off, dazed, near unseeing. She steps forward as if in a dream.

No one stops her. There is no mention of what happened last time she touched the rocks, all those months ago in Old Corona. There is no question of if this is the right thing to do. Even Varian falls quiet, his protests stifled.

Something strange is in the air. It draws Rapunzel forward and quiets their protests before they can even think to speak them. They watch in enforced silence, watch Rapunzel’s slow and wavering steps, her careful approach to the unyielding wall.

As Rapunzel draws closer, the rocks begin to react. A glow starts at its root, crawls up the spires, turns the inky black into glowing icy blue and shining polar white. A sight Varian has seen before, but this time…

Something about it pricks his interest, makes him frown, for a moment drawn out of his exhaustion and his daze. The light is… _wavering,_ almost, pulsing in a pattern as Rapunzel draws towards it, rippling like the surface of a lake. It is almost like a rhythm, a pattern, a… a heartbeat.

Unease sits heavy in his gut, coils tight around his throat. Something is wrong. Something isn’t right. The whole world tense and waiting, like eyes on the back of his neck. An invisible knife held to his spine, a danger he can sense but cannot see.

Rapunzel stands before the rock, gasping faintly, her whole body trembling like a leaf. Her face is tight with pain, but even this doesn’t seem to rouse her— her eyes glassy and unseeing, staring out at nothing.

Rapunzel reaches out, her palm outstretched, and touches the stone.

At the moment her fingers brush the rock, white—pure, glowing white—bursts out from the point of impact. It flashes bright as a beacon, rippling across all of the stone in a wave of burning light. For a moment the whole mountain, the black rocks, every jutting stone around them—they all flare as white as a diamond snow, glowing so fiercely Varian cannot even look at it, spots dancing in his eyes at the flash.

As quickly as it came, the light goes out.

It fades so rapidly, in fact, that for a moment Varian almost thinks he might have imagined it. It is gone as swiftly as a wavering flame from a candle wick, blown out in one harsh breath.

A sharp gasp makes him turn.

Rapunzel is stumbling back from the stone. Her face is colorless, her eyes wide with terror and shock. She stares at the black rocks with such undisguised horror that it makes Varian go cold.

Whatever held them still and silent before, it is gone now, broken with the light. Cassandra doubles over, one hand twisting in her tunic, gasping for breath. Eugene stumbles, nearly falling, then steadies himself and races to Rapunzel’s side. She is still reeling, and he catches her before she can fall, supporting her, pulling her close.

“Rapunzel!” Eugene says, worry pitching his voice high. He has gone pallid, and he holds Rapunzel close to him, one hand cupping her cheek, searching her face. “Rapunzel, what’s wrong!? What happened?”

Rapunzel is shaking, fighting to speak. She doesn’t return Eugene’s embrace, but she leans into it, her eyes wide, expression ashen. “A face,” Rapunzel whispers, stuttering on the words. She is shaking, gone so pale she looks like a ghost, swaying on her feet. “Eugene, there was— a face, it was _a face_ —”

“A _face?”_ Cassandra asks, sounding alarmed, and Rapunzel shudders, fear in her eyes.

“It was looking right at me,” she breathes, the sheer terror in her voice climbing with each word. “It looked _right_ at me.” She grabs at Eugene’s arm, suddenly falling, and Eugene struggles to keep them upright. Rapunzel doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are so far away. “Eugene, Eugene—I think—no, I—”

“Rapunzel!”

Rapunzel looks up at him, and her fear is like a living thing. Her eyes are wide with horror and a terrible realization.

“It knew I was coming,” she whispers. “It was _smiling.”_

“What do you mean,it  _knew!_?” Eugene cries, but Varian isn’t paying attention anymore. He is looking at the stone wall—looking at the place Rapunzel had touched it—and seeing nothing. Nothing has happened. Nothing has moved, nothing has changed, and yet, that doesn’t make any sense—

That cold feeling runs down his spine again. A knife at his back. A threat, unseen.

_It was **smiling.**_

Varian looks behind them. His blood turns to ice.

The black rocks are growing.

It is a wave of them, all at once, budding up from the ground in an endless trek. They make no sound as they rise, one after another in an unceasing surge. They are tall, so tall, piercing up straight through the dark clouds and the smog, deadly giants rising from the earth, and they are heading straight for them.

No, Varian’s terrified mind realizes. Not for them. For Rapunzel, limp in Eugene’s hold. For Eugene’s unprotected back, and for Cassandra huddled close to them. For the people unaware of the silent and ceaseless threat that is seconds away from descending upon them.

He does not stop to think, for there is no time to think. Varian reacts.

Varian lunges for Eugene, crashing bodily into him and Rapunzel, iron ball slipping free from his hands in the collision. His momentum throws them off balance, sends them sprawling to the side. All three of them tumble down into the dirt moments before those deadly spikes would have run them through.

The new growth of rocks keeps going, rising up right against the mountain face. An ear-splitting shriek pierces the air as the stones collide, a noise not unlike nails on chalkboard, high-pitched and agonizing to listen to.

Someone screams. Varian does not know who, cannot think clearly enough to figure it out. In the fall his head has knocked the ground, and his still-healing ear pulses painfully at the rough treatment.

Voices rise over his head, clamor in a mess of noise, buzzing in his one good ear. This close to the ground, he can feel it trembling, shaking as if rocked by the faintest of earthquakes.

“ _Watch out!”_

Strong arms wrap around his waist, yanking him roughly to the side. Black flashes across Varian’s vision. In the shining rock, he can see his own reflection, white with shock, eyes wide. Another stone— he had nearly been impaled.

Blonde hair brushes his face, and Varian flinches, half turning and then abruptly stumbling at a sudden sense of lightness by his feet. His head snaps down.

His iron ball is gone, the chain around his leg shattered from the last attack of stone. Around his bare ankle, all he has left is one foot cuff and a broken chain leading to nowhere. The last rock—it had nearly gotten him. He had been pulled away just in time, but the iron ball-and-chain had not made it.

A second later, neither would have Varian.

Hands touch at his shoulders, steady him before he collapses. Pale hair, torn loose from its tie, waves in his face. Rapunzel. It is Rapunzel. She had pulled him away—she had saved his life.

Varian nearly falls again, his injured leg buckling at the knee, but Rapunzel grabs him before he can hit the ground. Her face is near colorless, her eyes wide but aware. Whatever her earlier terror, it has been chased away by sheer adrenaline.

“Varian—!”

She never finishes. Her eyes catch on something behind him, and her words die off in a strangled gasp. Rapunzel wraps her arms around Varian and throws them both to the side with seconds to spare.

More rocks rise up from where they’d stood. Each of them is utterly silent except for where they clash with the mountain-side. The new rocks are growing from all sides now, bursting up without warning, moving so quickly that Varian’s dizzy eyes cannot track them.

“Rapunzel! Where are you!?”

“Eugene!” Rapunzel calls back, voice strained. She turns away from Varian, letting go as if he has burned her. She searches the field desperately, looking for any sign of the others. She reaches in the direction of Eugene’s cry, and the black rocks burst up right before her.

Rapunzel snaps her hand away with a sharp breath, just barely missing being skewered. She stumbles back, bumping into Varian. When another rock rises up in front of her, she whirls on her heels and grabs his shoulder, dragging them both off to the side.

No matter where Varian looks, there is no escape from them. The rocks rise up, relentless, controlled, deadly in their pinpoint focus. They just keep _coming,_ in front of them, beside them, rising up and up and _up_ —

Rapunzel retreats from the rising stone, dragging Varian with her, and he follows her on instinct. He is too terrified to realize what he is doing, who he is with, his mind consumed by the chaos that is unfolding right before his eyes.

Something cold hits his back.

 Varian jumps, spinning on his heels, and nearly screams, face-to-face with his own reflection. A wall—a wall of blank and reflective black rock. He and Rapunzel have been backed into a corner, forced back against the mountain of black stone.

Varian gasps in horror, mind kickstarting, the pieces falling together all at once. He whirls around, facing the chaos, trying to see if there is any way they can get through, a way to escape.

There is none. The rocks have risen up before them, an unyielding wall, stretching on for miles across in either direction, boxing them in on the front. They are beside them, too—on both sides of them. That last wall of rocks had trapped them in a pen of indestructible stone.

“No,” Varian says.

Another spike surges up from the earth. Varian ducks just in time, grabbing Rapunzel to pull her down with him. This one misses their heads only just—shooting through the gaps of the vertical stone wall, creating an angle where it hits the mountain of stone with a shrill screech.

A moment of still silence. Rapunzel and Varian both stare at the spike above their heads. Nothing moves. Nothing breathes. The ground lies still beneath Varian’s palms.

“What—” Rapunzel says, and then the earth erupts into violence.

Varian drags Rapunzel back to the ground just in time. The rocks shoot out over their heads, through every gap in the stone walls surrounding them, through every possible opening. Each and every one misses. They are all angled—all of them turned up and above them, screeching as they hit the mountain wall.

Too late, does Varian realize what is happening. The first wave of stone had boxed them in, vertical walls, straight towers of stone. This— this, what is happening now—is a roof. Another addition to the mountain of stone, a wall with no way through… or out.

A cave without an entrance, a prison cell without a door. The mountain at their back and no way out—no food, limited air, no water. They’ll die. They’ll die in three days when the air runs out or four without water or seven without food.

They’ll _die_.

It is a death trap, and Rapunzel and Varian have been caught straight in the midst of it.

“No!” Varian cries. His terror is swift and blinding in its intensity, and he stumbles to his feet. The top of his head brushes the half-created stone roof. He lunges for the light he can still see, the places yet to be locked off, desperate to escape. “No, no, _no!”_

A hand clutches his arm, yanks him backward. He hits the ground hard, biting down a scream at the sudden shock of pain.

“ _Don’t!”_ Rapunzel cries, her voice shrill in his ear. “You’ll get  _impaled!”_

“No, no—”

“Varian!”

“It’s locking us in!” he shouts back, struggling to rise. “The rocks, they’re—it’s a cage, it’s a cave with no exit, we’ll _die!”_

Rapunzel’s face goes white, and in her dismay, her grip loosens. Varian lurches to his feet, tripping at the sudden freedom, stumbling to the light.

(He does not see Rapunzel, ashen-faced with horror, with the slow realization of what she has caused. He does not see her glance behind her, at the mountain wall, the shining surface of the stone.

He does not see her eyes go wide, does not see the face in the reflection. He doesn’t see the creature smile.)

_“Don’t!”_

Varian is not listening. Desperation blinds him, and he lunges for the last section of light, the last chance they have, the last possible exit. He is moments from reaching it when a hand wraps in his shirt and throws him to the ground, pinning him low.

“Don’t!” Rapunzel shrieks, pulling him away moments before his hand reaches the light. “Don’t, we can’t make it, that thing will kill you!”

“Let _go_!”

Another rock slots into place. The light in their cage dims.

“Let go of me!” Varian screams, terror spiking at the sight. He fights against Rapunzel’s grip, scrambling for purchase on the ground. He drives his elbow behind him and hits something soft, and Rapunzel gives a strangled scream. Her hands fall away.

He climbs to his feet again, lunging for the last slit, the last place of light. He never makes it. Arms hook under his shoulders, wrap around his chest, dragging him back. He can hear the wounded wheeze of Rapunzel’s uneven breaths in his ear as they struggle.

For a moment they are locked in a standstill—Varian fighting to go forward, Rapunzel hauling him back, her fingers digging into his skin and holding him in place. And then, all at once, Varian’s strength gives out, his weak and injured body failing at last.

The sudden lack of resistance sends the both of them tumbling. Rapunzel’s grip loosens in surprise, and Varian stumbles backward at the release. His arms pinwheel in an attempt to keep his balance, and he has almost succeeded when his injured leg buckles and sends him falling straight back.

His back hits the wall hard enough to leave him breathless, and his head snaps back not a moment later. Varian’s injured ear bashes against the stone wall, and the agony is so sudden and blinding that his vision goes white.

Varian blacks out.

An instant later, and he is awake again. His head pounds like a drum, ear throbbing painfully, swollen and stinging beneath the bandaging. Varian gasps, in too much pain to scream, and fights to open his eyes.

His vision is blurry with tears. He is surrounded by dark stone by all sides, no gaps, no exits. There is one last opening left. One last chance for escape. Through it, he can see the sky, the daylight dim, the clouds dark with the promise of a violent storm.

The last rock slots into place.

The light goes out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“This is goodbye,” Rapunzel says._

_The world has not changed. It is the same as before, the same as it ever was. Fog swirling like a storm, a merciless path and a divided road, a choice she must make. It has not changed, and by now, Rapunzel knows it never will. Nothing changes, without a choice. Nothing will ever change, if she doesn’t have the courage to move forward._

_“What do you mean?”_

_Varian hasn’t changed either. Not really, she thinks. Not here, and not out there, either; not in any of the ways that matter. Perhaps there is a reason he is here with her at this crossroads. Not to guide her, as she had first thought. Maybe he too has a choice to make, a path of his own he is afraid to take._

_It is too late to ask, now. They have both run out of time._

_“I’m leaving,” Rapunzel says. “I’ve decided. I’m going on ahead.”_

_He stares at her. The world around them ripples, a pebble dropped into a still pond. “What?” he says, sounding stunned. “Leaving?”_

_“Yes.”_

_His eyes drop to the path, that icy black rock, the shackles that bind him to the stone. “I see,” he says finally. “Which way, then, will you go? Which destiny is yours?”_

_Rapunzel stands. She gathers her skirts in her hands and shakes her head. Her hair, loose and floating gently in an invisible wind, drifts around them in a gold stream, cocooning them both in light._

_“Neither,” she says, as gently as she can manage. “I am done with taking the easy road. With letting others, or destiny, decide what I should do or who I should be. I am leaving, Varian. I am taking the only path I can trust.” She smiles, soft and sad. “My own.”_

_He stares at her, uncomprehending. Then his eyes go wide. “You_ are  _leaving,” he realizes. “You’re leaving for good. You are— you haven’t chosen a road at all, have you? You are stepping off the path.”_

_“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rapunzel says. “I have chosen a path, Varian. I’ve chosen to make one.”_

_He doesn’t reply. Just stares, wide-eyed and uncertain, looking confused and frightened in equal measure._

_Rapunzel turns away from him, unable to bear the look on his face, turns to the crossroads and its split paths. Before her the road ends. The mist swirls, deceptive as a snake. Cold as ice and hard as stone, the future blinded to her eyes. It is not her destiny, to step off the path. It will not be kind to her. But Rapunzel is not afraid._

_“You’re leaving me here?” Varian asks from behind her, and his voice is soft and quiet in the silent world. Childlike and afraid. “Alone?”_

_She hesitates. At long last, Rapunzel looks behind her, meets his eyes with difficulty._

_“Are you coming with me?”_

_He says nothing._

_“I was ready to make amends—at least, I thought I was. But you… You were never ready, were you?” She looks down at the chains on his wrists, and concludes sadly, “You still aren’t.”_

_He stares up at her, silent and fearful. Rapunzel waits for a long moment and then shakes her head, pulling away. Her eyes stinging with tears, her heart set. She doesn’t look back at him again._

_She steps out, off the crossroads, off the path, walking forward without fear into the mist._

_At once, Rapunzel is caught in the grips of a terrible agony. The air presses against her, digs pinchers beneath her blood and drags like needles against her skin. She cannot breathe, she cannot move— frozen still in that awful grip, like a mighty hand slowly crushing her, punishment for stepping away from the path destiny had wrought._

_For a moment, Rapunzel can almost see a figure in the mist. It is indescribable, featureless, merely a silhouette in the fog. A shadow of a person, an echo of a real being. A crescent smile and eyes yellow-white like the moon, merciless and indifferent, apathetic to her pain._

Are you quite certain? _the figure seems to say._ Is this really the path you have chosen?

_Rapunzel grits her teeth. She cannot breathe. She can barely see, let alone talk. Every inch of her skin burns. She is drowning alive, trapped in this awful hell, this terrible agony. Her hands tremble. The air presses so hard she almost thinks she can hear her bones shriek._

_Rapunzel has stepped off the path, off the road destiny has laid out for her. She has denied the future they chose, the choices she was meant to make. For her insolence, they have given her this._

_Rapunzel does not falter. She has decided, and she will not go back on her word. If she cannot trust the road she walks, if she cannot trust that destiny will be kind to her loved ones or to her, then she will forge her own path._

_Victorious or damned, Varian had said, but Rapunzel chooses to be happy._

_It takes all she has, everything she is. Rapunzel takes one more step._

_All at once, the pain vanishes, the weight lifting, gone as if it has never been. Rapunzel stands tall and the tempest—not a fog, she can see now, perhaps never really a fog after all—moves around her, out of her way. Bowing to her will._

Very well, _whispers the storm, but when Rapunzel looks up there is no one there—just the fog, the storm, and the uncertain future she has chosen: a path unmade, the road never taken._

_The mist curls around her, circles her, soft and gentle, deceptively sweet for something that had caused her such agony only moments ago. She cannot see the ground beneath her feet, and she cannot see anything before her. A wind tugs at her loose hair, pulling the strands forward, urging her onward, a gentle glowing river of gold._

_Rapunzel hesitates. At long last she turns, looking behind her. The crossroads is faint now, obscured by the growing fog, by the all-consuming mist. But she can still see him. The boy chained to the path, his stone-black shackles and blank blue eyes, a boy betrayed twice over._

_Her heart aches for him. But Rapunzel has waited, and she has tried, and she has done all she can for him. She cannot wait at this crossroads forever. Not even for him._

_“Goodbye, Varian,” she says at last. The wind picks up, the mist trailing in the breeze. It curls through her fingers and combs through her hair, yet another barrier between them. “I’m sorry I failed you.”_

_She has nothing left to say to him; he says nothing else. Regret and grief and hatred, all unspoken, all unresolved. But Rapunzel has decided her path—she has chosen to move forward. She has chosen to move on._

_Rapunzel has made her choice. Now Varian must make his._

_Rapunzel turns away, and this time she doesn’t look back. She walks on into the fog, steps forward into the storm. She never falters, not once, walking on bravely until at last the fog swirls and swallows her whole. Her unbowed back and glowing ribbon of hair vanishing into the mist, leaving not even a trace of her behind._

_Varian watches her go. He watches until he cannot see her anymore, not even a hint of her, and then he looks away. Tight around his wrists, his chains twist and pull, an insistent, ugly pain, as constant as a rainfall. They rub raw and aching against his bruised and reddened skin._

_The chains are unlocked. They have always been unlocked, if only he has the courage to leave them behind. He is own prison, his own warden, and freedom is as simple as slipping the chains off his wrists._

_Varian does not remove the chains, and the iron digs unforgiving teeth into his skin, a shackle of his own making. He closes his eyes and does not open them again, and the world—the lonely path, the deceiving fog, the empty road—fades away into nothing._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. _Guys._ You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to unveil this chapter, oh my god. I’ve been sitting on the mysterious figure/creature for AGES. (Who I’m sure most of you have already figured out the identity of, but if not— there’s a bunch of lil clues scattered around the chapter!! *wink wink). I am so, so excited to finally introduce them. Aaaah!! I can’t believe I’ve gotten to this part already!! Oh my god!!
> 
>  _Speaking_ of this chapter… Eugene and Cassandra were… very, very difficult to pin down in this one. I went through a lot of drafts before I settled on this version. Eugene’s anger was startling, and a shift from his usual tactics, but in a way I think that’s why I kept it—he’s as much as a mess as the rest of them right now, and he deserves to express that, too. He’s feeling useless and afraid for his loved ones, and has a lot of mixed feelings on Varian this time around. In the time of Labyrinths, Eugene has kinda bonded with Varian, and as such is no longer as objective. That’s going to show. For Cassandra, on the other hand… it made sense to me for her issue to be more with Rapunzel? Like, she wouldn’t dare trust Varian again, not fully, not when he hasn’t earned it—so while it hurts, it’s not so much a _betrayal_ to her. Rapunzel, though? She’d expect Rapunzel to trust her with this. The fact Rapunzel faced Varian alone, without evening warning them…? Oooooh, yeah. That would bother her. Either way, for them both—emotional anger and complicated feelings all around!! Woo! (*throws confetti). I royally dub everyone in this story a mess. 
> 
> Rapunzel was a little easier. This chapter was meant to parallel the episode Queen for a Day and the lessons Raps learned during that story and after it…. especially because, difficult though her choice was, at least in QfaD Rapunzel knew she had made the right choice, that following her heart was the right answer. Here, the situation is different—her choice _wasn’t_ the right one. In fact, it went disastrously wrong for everyone, not just Rapunzel. At that moment, following her heart and what she felt was right ended up leading her into disaster. For the first time in her life, her heart was wrong, and she doesn’t know whether to trust herself. Which is why Eugene’s words and her choice regarding the King’s missive, while probably obvious to us, is so important to her. She is encouraged not to follow her heart blindly, but to trust in her own strength and determination to make things right, if and when her heart leads her wrong. She’s pushed to keep trying. And the king? He reminds her why she must go forward— because for Rapunzel, this choice isn’t just about her, and this journey isn’t really _for_ her. She’s doing it for Corona. She’s doing it for her people. 
> 
> Plus, destiny isn’t always kind (in fact, it almost never is), and I kind of wanted to explore that fear? That idea that maybe, Rapunzel’s destiny isn’t to have a happy ending, but rather something else? Because usually, ‘follow your destiny’ stories end up with the companions dead or traumatized, and the hero themselves gets told either ‘kill this person,’ ‘do this thing,’ or even ‘die for this cause.’ I feel she’d know that, and the closer Rapunzel gets to the end, the deeper that dread grows. If her destiny isn’t a good one, if it demands too much from her, or hurts the ones she loves… what then? Well, Rapunzel’s finally found her answer. 
> 
> Anyways, I love Rapunzel lots, and I really wanted to address her thoughts and fears here. The story may have a big focus on Varian, but it’s not _his_ story. He’s just along for the ride. This story is, and always will be, Rapunzel’s. Varian may share in the limelight, but ultimately, Rapunzel is the one at the epicenter of it all.
> 
> Last but not least— I have some song recommendations!! A very kind anon recommend me the song “Liar” by Arcadian Wild for Labyrinths!Varian, and it fits him so well guys, go check it out!! And, for this chapter especially, “Too Much Is Never Enough” by Florence and the Machine is Rapunzel’s song. Like, that song is so pretty, but the lyrics!! Oh wow! It really fits my view for Rapunzel in this chapter, but gosh, it’s real pretty regardless, I definitely recommend giving those songs a try!
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/176446756707/title-labyrinths-of-the-heart-synopsis-plagued) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


	6. The Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, uhh, I’ll just admit this chapter gave me a lot of trouble. But— I’m actually pretty happy with it, I guess?? I just hope you guys all like it too, ahaha. (Kinda glad I’m done with it though.) 
> 
> Just want to say, also-- I’m really sorry I haven’t been able to reply to all your wonderful comments!! I’ll do my best to catch up soon. Just know that I read and appreciate each and every one. Your support and enthusiasm is why I’ve been getting this chapters out as fast I have. Thank you so, so much, and I hope you all continue to enjoy this fic!! 
> 
> Also, um…. This chapter is pretty bleak. Again, I promise this story has a happy ending!!! Just…. keep that in mind? Um. Good things are ahead! Soon!
> 
>  **Warnings** for: graphic description of an injury (mild), cursing, starvation, slow suffocation, hopeless situations, near-death situations, etc… and just… extreme emotional responses and reactions all around. As always, if there’s anything you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!

 

The moment Rapunzel sees Varian lunge for the gap in the rocks, she reacts.

She pushes herself off the ground and races for him, reaching out in sheer desperation. She catches the collar of his borrowed shirt and yanks him back, hard. Her other hand grips his wrist, and she swiftly locks her arm under his shoulder, pulling him back. She drags him away from the gap and he fights her every step.

They are locked in place, trapped in a pen of the black rocks—a pen that is very rapidly becoming a cage. The rocks rise up, relentless in their assault, creating a roof over their heads. In a less than a minute there won’t be any openings at all, any chance for escape.

Even knowing this, even though she fears being trapped here with every inch of her being… Rapunzel still fights. She knows they can’t make it, and she knows what will happen if she fails to pull Varian back. She had seen it in the reflection, in the creature’s ruthless smile, heard it like a whisper on the wind. She pulls him back from the last opening even though every part of her is screaming to run.

In all honesty, it is perhaps shocking that Varian is holding his ground at all. He is young, weakened from lack of sleep and poor eating, not to mention the trauma of his torn ear and injured leg. For all that Rapunzel has suffered similar insomnia and lack of appetite, she is far healthier and stronger than he is. Yet, for a good few seconds, as Varian lunges for the light spot and Rapunzel drags him back, they are locked in a standstill. 

Maybe it is adrenaline that drives him forward, fighting her hold. Maybe it is fear.

Rapunzel grits her teeth and digs her bare toes into the dry dirt, firming her stance. She doesn’t waver.

Neither of them is prepared for when Varian’s strength gives out.

Without any warning, Varian’s injured leg buckles, breaking under the pressure. All of a sudden, the resistance Rapunzel had been pulling against has vanished. She realizes this too late, and the momentum sends them sprawling, slamming back against the mountain face. Varian hits the wall hard; Rapunzel slips and collapses on her side.

Her gut throbs with pain, her spine aching at the blow. Varian had hit her solidly, in his attempts to escape her grip—driven back his elbow right into her gut, hard enough to wind her. Now the rocks have bruised her to match.

Rapunzel gasps past the pain, inhaling sharply, getting only a mouthful of loose dirt for her troubles. She coughs hard, pushing herself up with one hand. She climbs unsteadily to her feet, stumbling from the shock of falling, desperate fear stealing her breath.

Her instincts are screaming at her, her heart wailing. One last bit of light, one last chance, and yet—

Rapunzel doesn’t fall for the trap. She looks back at the mountain wall, instead, just as the light starts to fade. The ceiling is almost complete, the roof of their cage almost done, but there is still enough daylight left for her to see it.

The creature is still there. Still watching her. It seems to see her looking, for in the next moment it meets her eyes, smile growing impossibly wide. Slowly, deliberately, it lifts a claw-like hand and places one solemn finger against its grinning mouth, slicing that crescent smile in two.

She blinks, and when she opens her eyes, the creature has vanished entirely. No more grinning face in the reflection. Only Rapunzel, pale with terror, her own fearful eyes mirrored back at her.

“No,” Rapunzel whispers.

The final black rock slots neatly into place with one last shrill screech. The light in the cave goes out. Behind her, Rapunzel can hear Varian’s muffled scream.

The daylight has been extinguished, and so, suddenly, has Rapunzel’s confidence. The severity of the situation hits her without warning.

She feels dizzy and weak in this sudden darkness, terrified of the rock face, of the creature, of its last actions. Rapunzel stumbles back and then whirls on her heel, going for the other side, the wall separating her from the outside world. She places both of her palms flat against the cool stone.

Maybe they will still react to her touch. Perhaps there is still a chance—

A glow starts up where her fingers touch the rocks, faint wisps of blue and white creeping across the dark stone. Rapunzel bites her lip hard, waiting with bated breath.

Nothing. No reaction, no beacon of light, nothing but a faint glow, soft and blue, barely enough to illuminate their new cage.

She stares at her hands, incredulous, then grits her teeth. Her temper flares like a spark on oil, fueled by frustration and her rising terror.

She curls one hand into a tight fist, nails scraping against the rocks. Rapunzel slams her hand hard at the wall. “Let us out!” she cries, knowing the creature is listening. “Let us _out!”_

The black rocks don’t react. The air fluctuates around her, almost seeming to laugh, and Rapunzel bites back a snarl, banging her hand on the wall once more. “Eugene!” she tries, screaming through the gaps in the wall, just barely visible. “Cass! Can you hear me? We’re right here! We’re right—”

A sharp screech cuts her off, and Rapunzel flinches from the wall, stumbling back in shock. Another scrape echoes through the cave, and then another—the same sound Rapunzel heard when the rocks had collided with the mountain of stone, only minutes ago.

What little light shines through the thin gaps in the stone goes out.

It does not take a genius to understand what is happening. The creature—that thing, whatever it is—it _has_ heard her, and this is the response. To cage her in even more securely, to reinforce the walls and… and what? Blend their cage with part of the mountain, make the walls so thick and so tall that Cassandra and Eugene will never be able to find them, let alone hear them scream?

Ice trickles down her spine. The rocks, flying every which way, and the creature’s cold smile… did they even make it out? Would she know?

There is a terrible possibility that Cassandra and Eugene may not be alive after all, and Rapunzel goes cold at the thought.

“No!”

She throws herself at the wall again, banging hard at the black rocks in a sudden fit of desperation. Every hit sends a stabbing pain through her fragile fingers, her breakable bones; Rapunzel ignores it and keeps on striking. “No, no! Cass! _Eugene!_ Can you hear me? I’m here! I’m right here! Varian and I are both—”

At this, her breath seizes, her mind and memory catching up to her. _Varian!_

She whips her head around, eyes squinting through the dim darkness to try and spot him. In the pale light, she can see him curled up on the ground. He hasn’t moved since he’s fallen, since the cage was completed. One hand is raised to his head, and his teeth are a pale gleam in the dark. He is shaking, eyes shut, curled up on the ground in a near-fetal position.

Rapunzel whirls back around, guilt stabbing through her heart. He is… he must be angry at her, for pulling him back, even though it saved his life—and of course he would be angry with her. And he is hurt, besides. She doesn’t… she’ll let him rest, she doesn’t need his help right now, she’s sure she can call loud enough for Eugene and Cassandra on her own, and besides…

She doesn’t think he’ll help her, and she is terrified of asking.

Rapunzel inhales deeply, shaking the thought from her head. She doesn’t have time for this. She raises her voice again, trying to be heard over the scraping din of the rocks.

“ _EUGENE! CASS!”_

No answer. Rapunzel bites back a sob and wipes the rising tears from her eyes with a furious swipe of her hand. She keeps shouting. She keeps trying.

She tries until her voice runs hoarse, until her hands ache. She screams and begs and curses, but no answer ever comes. And the rocks… the rocks outside their prison just keep growing.

Even after Rapunzel’s voice has withered away to a painful croak, she can still hear them growing. Not a single black rock pierces through their newly-created prison. After the last damning spire cut off their light, all others have risen outside of it. Fortifying already unbreakable walls, driving home their useless situation all the further. With every passing minute, the situation spirals even further from her control.

Rapunzel doesn’t give up. She slams her hands against the wall and calls with a breathless voice for Eugene and Cassandra, straining her ears in an attempt to hear them. Besides her own breathing, Varian’s ragged gasps, and the constant shifting scape of the stone, she can hear nothing else.

She hopes they escaped the rocks okay; she hopes they are unharmed. Rapunzel is terrified that they might not be.

(What if, a voice whispers in the back of her mind. What if she is yelling to no-one? What if they are no longer here to hear her?)

Her stomach aches from where Varian had elbowed her, and the enclosed space and stale air makes her breathing shaky. Her hands are beginning to ache fiercely after ages of slamming them against an immovable stone wall, and her head rings loud with adrenaline, her high from the attack still going strong with this new dilemma.

Rapunzel is growing frustrated. She drags in another rough breath and slams her fist against the wall one last time. Her fist glances off the rock with another spike of searing pain. “Eugene! Cass! Please, answer me!” Her voice breaks, too thin and raw to go higher than a whisper. “P-please, _please_ be there…”

Nothing. Not even the scape of stone, this time. The rocks have grown so thick no light can pierce through, not even enough of a gap for the wind. The spot they are trapped in will look no different from the rest, now just another part of the mountainside. Rapunzel wonders, a touch hysterical, if this is how the mountain was built over the centuries—thousands of fools come too close, only to be devoured whole by the black rocks, trapped in a pen and left to die within its walls.

Rapunzel is supposed to be _different._ She’d thought—

Rapunzel chokes back the urge to cry, squeezing her eyes shut against the burn of tears. It doesn’t matter what she’d thought, in the end. This is the reality.

There is nothing there, no sound from the outside. Her throat aches, her hands spasming in pain. Rapunzel finally pulls away, reluctance writ in every tense line of her body, stepping back from the outer wall to slide down the side, her back to the stone, bare hands pressed against the cool rock.

Across the room, her fellow prisoner—Varian, of all people, and the reminder is enough to make Rapunzel feel ill— is quiet. He’s been quiet since the light went out, when their last chance was ripped away. She’d seen his face only briefly, then, before everything went dark. Wide eyes, shell-shocked expression, desperate hope falling into despair. He’s been quiet ever since. Curled against the far wall, unmoving and eerily silent but for his raspy breaths, taught with pain.

Some part of Rapunzel—smaller now than it perhaps had been before, but still existing—aches for him. The rest of her cannot stand to look at him. His presence here is enough to make her skin crawl; his quiet sends shivers down her spine. She can’t face him, and she tries her best to avoid him, even in such a small room like this. She cannot bear to see him, cannot bear to look at his huddled form. 

Each time she meets his eyes directly, she remembers the glint of an arrow. Each time she sees his face, she vividly recalls the way his expression went cold at the mention of the amber, like something in him had died.

Each time she thinks of Varian, she is forcibly reminded that he nearly killed her, almost slit her throat for no reason at all.

The mere memory makes her shudder. Rapunzel turns away, momentarily drawing her hands back from the wall. The instant she isn’t in contact, the cave wall goes dark, plunging them into blackness.

The sudden darkness makes her gut clench. Varian says nothing, but she can hear the hitch in his breathing across the room.

Rapunzel quickly huddles into the corner, back to the outer wall. Her back, her knees, her arm… thankfully, even with her dress as a barrier, this proximity is enough. The glow is weak but steady, and the return of the light, however dim, makes her sigh with relief, tears pricking at her eyes.

Not in the dark. Not yet.

She keeps her hands close to her chest, massaging life back into her numb and aching fingers. They are bruised and slowly swelling, stinging painfully from nearly an hour of rough contact with merciless rock. It is hard to bend them, let alone look at them. The skin is tight and puffy with irritation, stiff with exhaustion and a radiating pain.

Rapunzel presses her folded hands into her stomach and bows over them, trying to give them rest. The soft fabric of her dress scratches at her sensitive fingers, but here, trapped between her gut and her knees, her hands are at least warm.

She feels strung out, drawn tight like a wire—one sharp tug, and she will snap, break easily and without warning, her strength and courage broken down onto its last legs.

The rest should calm her. Rest has always calmed Rapunzel, be it sitting still or painting or charting the stars. Now should be no different, and yet, for once the calm doesn’t come.

Rapunzel is restless, and buzzing with it. Her thoughts are wild and faltering, tangling forever inside her head. She can’t stop thinking, can’t stop wondering, can’t stop aching for the sound of Cassandra and Eugene’s voices. Sitting still like this unnerves her, makes her skin crawl.

Her bare toes flex in the dirt and her fingers clench in her dress skirts, twist around the handle of her satchel, entwine and tug at her long hair. She’d lost her hair-ties in the commotion, and now her hair hangs loose and heavy from her head, piled up near her feet. It trails around the cave like a mockery of a winding river, the pale strands shining gray in the faint glow of the rocks.

Rapunzel can’t stay here. She can’t waste time like this, why is she _sitting_ here?

Eugene is out there, and Cassandra—Rapunzel must find them, she must hear from them, she has to _try._ She can do anything so long as they are with her, can face any trial with them by her side, and she needs them now more than ever. She wants their comfort, their laughter, and just— _them._

Yelling, and fighting… it isn’t working. Even if it was, her hands ache too badly to continue right now. But Rapunzel can’t think of anything else to do. Her mind is blank. Except… Rapunzel isn’t alone. 

Varian is here too.

Her throat seals up. The thought is a frightening one. She can hardly look at Varian, and to remember he is here with her, in this prison of unbreakable rock, is enough to make her blood run cold. The attack was barely even a week ago, but it feels like only yesterday—not enough time has passed to even dull the sting.

Would he have killed her? Rapunzel doesn’t know.

She thinks she wouldn’t be nearly so afraid of him if she knew the answer.

Rapunzel closes her eyes, thumping her head back against the cave wall. She is—she is being childish. They are trapped here, together, and Rapunzel is just going to have to deal with that. So what if Varian makes her skin crawl? So what if she can’t look him in the eyes? So what?

This is the reality. They are here, and her options are limited, and Varian is clever, intelligent despite the danger he poses. His inventions may at times end in disaster, but there is also always a chance of them succeeding.

They can get out of here. They must, they can, they will. This isn’t the end of her journey. It simply can’t be.

As if on cue, a memory arises, a shadowy creature with a pale smile grinning out from the depths of her mind. Rapunzel shivers, curling up tight against the wall. No. No, she can’t think of it here. She can’t. If she does, she won’t be able to think at all.

_Don’t think of the creature. Don’t think of the rocks. Don’t think of the tower—_

She has to get out of here, she has to, she must, and if Varian is all she has to help her then Rapunzel will ask him for help. She can do it. She has done more frightening things than that, has faced horrors worse than a boy with bloody hands and a hateful heart. She can look him in the eyes and pretend he didn’t try to kill her and everyone she loves.

Rapunzel runs her hands through her hair, pushing the stray strands away from her face. She stands slowly, stretching out her sore fingers, and the lack of contact with the rocks plunges the room back into the dark. The sudden gloom startles her, and she places her aching hands back against the wall, taking a strange comfort in that icy and indifferent glow.

She stalls the coming conversation, gathering her courage. She runs her fingers along the wall, the uneven surface of stone spires. It reminds her of her tower—of Gothel’s tower. Cobble rock walls and cages of black stone are not nearly as different as they appear.

At last she can delay no longer. Rapunzel inhales deeply and braces herself for when it all goes wrong. (Please, please don’t let it go wrong.)

“Varian,” Rapunzel says finally, her throat tight, her heart twisting in her chest. She doesn’t look at him. “Varian, I— I need your help. Do you— if we yell together, maybe— or if you have any plan, anything you can think of, that might—?”

“What’s the point?”

His voice, hoarse and thin, cuts her off as she begins to build momentum, as her courage returns. The words are cold, strained from some unnamable emotion.

For a moment, she doesn’t understand. Rapunzel turns to him, so incredulous she forgets to avoid him. Her heart jumps at those words, at the deadness in his voice.

“What?” she says, and if her voice rasps, if it drags out of her ruined throat like shards of broken glass, well. Rapunzel has felt worse. “W-what do you even— _we have to get out!_ If we call for Eugene and Cass, if we can talk to them, or if we can just, I- I don’t know, thin the walls…”

In the blue light, she can’t even see Varian’s face—only a dim outline of it, a stock-still shadow of a boy slumped against the cave wall. The glow catches in his dull eyes, his bloody bandages, his dark hair.

 “What’s the point?” Varian repeats, but he no longer sounds dead. He sounds angry now, his voice cracking on the words. He sounds furious, he sounds hurt, he sounds—young. Terribly, painfully young. “We’re _trapped_ here! There’s no way out! No way to cut through the rocks! We’re stuck here!”

Rapunzel sucks in a sharp breath, momentarily speechless, unable to speak. Then her resolve firms.

“There’s always a way,” Rapunzel rebukes, no give in her voice. She draws herself to full height almost subconsciously, her sore and tingling fingertips scraping against the stone as she curls her fingers. “There is _always_ a way. We’ll get out. We just have to call for Eugene—”

“It won’t work,” Varian tells her. His voice is trembling.

A flash of pity cuts through her fear. For a moment Rapunzel forgets what has happened, the history between them. He sounds—scared. He sounds like a child.

It’s easy to forget, Rapunzel thinks. Easy to forget, when Varian is all biting words and bitter looks, that he is only fourteen. Only a boy.

She is grateful, suddenly, for the darkness—it makes this easier. Rapunzel closes her eyes and breathes in deep. “Varian,” she says, words gentle. “It’s going to be okay.”

Varian stares at her, eyes wide, white all around his iris. He looks painfully lost.

Then, all at once, his expression hardens.

“What do _you_ know?” Varian snaps. His voice is no longer meek, no longer silent—it rises up, shrill and childish and young, breaking on fear and a terrible realization. “Who—who do you think you’re _fooling?_ It’s—if we don’t get out, we’re going to die here! Okay? This is it!”

“It’s not—”

“Don’t _say_ that!” Varian cries out. “Don’t— I, I know, okay, I _know_ , we don’t have food or water or—and air, it’s not coming through, we’ll run out, we’ll suffocate…”

His voice goes small, breaking. “And the rocks? You think we can…? We can’t. We, we _can’t,_ okay? It’s—I had my whole lab, everything I knew, and—and n-nothing worked on those rocks. Not a single thing. And now? Now I don’t even have _that._ Yelling isn’t going to work, nothing’s going to work—”

“Do you have a better idea?” Rapunzel bites out, and Varian shuts up. His voice trails off, strangled into silence. For a moment he says nothing else—and then his breath hitches, breaks on a sob.

Varian starts crying.

He cries quietly, silently—curled up, head in his hands, hopelessness bowing his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t look to Rapunzel for comfort.

Rapunzel doesn’t give it. She doesn’t know how, not to him. Her words only make him angry, her actions only ever seem to drive him to violence. She turns away instead, feeling unsettled, her heart in her throat. He’s young. She’s young. Varian is crying, and she can’t—she doesn’t know what to do.

_We’ll die._

She shakes the memory of those hopeless words from her head and slams her breaking and useless hand against the wall again. Maybe Varian is right. Maybe it is futile, but it’s the only plan she’s got and she can’t quit, not yet. There is a chance. There is a way out. There is hope.

There must be.

Rapunzel keeps on trying, calling out until at last her voice goes hoarse and fades, withering away in her throat. No matter how long or how loud she screams, no reply ever comes.

-

They search for hours.

In this barren land, Cassandra’s voice rings louder than ever. Beyond the looming mountain and jutting forest of rocks, practically a maze, the horizon is clear. No trees, low hills, and a mountain of sheer black rock at their back. Nothing else. No one else.

“Rapunzel!”

Cassandra paces up and down the mountain base. Her footsteps kick up loose dust, send loose pebbles scattering. At her back, her sword thumps awkwardly against her spine. Eugene follows at her footsteps, crying out in sync with her. Their voices are scratchy and thin from hours of yelling.

Eugene never falters, and Cassandra doesn’t stop. She can’t stop. Not until they find Rapunzel, not until she knows for sure.

“ _Rapunzel!”_

No reply. This isn’t a surprise, no matter how much Cassandra hates it. The whole time Cassandra and Eugene have been searching, there hasn’t been any hint of Rapunzel or Varian.

It has been hours since they last saw her, back when the rocks were flying out every which way and driving them apart. Eugene and Cassandra had been pushed together and then away from the mountain wall in their attempts to escape unscathed. They had believed, at the time, that perhaps Rapunzel and Varian had done the same.

That belief, and that hope, has now died. Rapunzel is nowhere to be found, the rocks making up the mountain wall have expanded another half-mile out in their direction, and that means—

“She didn’t get out,” Eugene says, voice soft with horror.

Cassandra stops, halting mid-stride. She feels like she’s being strangled. She doesn’t respond. They are walking the edge of a mountain that looks the same from all angles, so completely lost it isn’t even funny, left alone and wandering a barren land.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Cassandra forces out, finally.

“We both saw it,” Eugene argues, voice rising in anger and dread. “The rocks were pinning them against the wall, and if—if they didn’t get out in time—”

“We don’t _know—_ ”

 “She’s not here, we’ve looked. She’s not here because she’s trapped,” Eugene rambles, and horrible realization deadens his voice. “Oh, god. She’s—and Varian—they’re both _trapped.”_

Cassandra swallows hard, turning back to the mountain. She can’t even see where they might be, anymore. The rocks had risen up and separated them, and then they’d just… kept going. Hours and hours of growing, new growth sprouting at the edges, driving Eugene and Cassandra even further to the outskirts.

“She’s _trapped in the mountain,_ ” Eugene says, again. His hands rise up, push back at his fringe in a nervous motion. There is a panic in his eyes that Cassandra has never before seen on Eugene, a fragileness to him that makes her go cold.

“I told you, we don’t know that,” Cassandra snaps back, but her protest is weak and they both know it. “She might have…”

She can’t finish the thought. Her mind goes blank, no possibilities arising. Cassandra rocks back on her heels and rubs at her temple, teeth grinding. There must have been a way for them to escape, there must be, now if only Cassandra could _find_ it—

Eugene is already shaking his head, denying it outright. “Cass,” he says, something awful and trembling in his words, “it’s been hours, and we haven’t even heard—and, and we saw them—those rocks, if they penned them in…”

“They could have gotten out!” Cassandra barks, whirling on him. She hadn’t meant to yell it, hadn’t meant for her words to sound so angry, but now that it has burst free she can’t stop herself from shouting. “They had to—they must have—Raps can’t be…!”

She recalls, without prompting, Rapunzel’s pale face and outstretched hand, her thin and wavering voice calling for them amongst the chaos. Rapunzel, long hair loose and green eyes wide, Varian pulled close to her side. The rocks, rising up, pushing the both of them back towards the mountain…

Cassandra thinks she might be sick. She draws away from Eugene, hands rising up to tangle in her hair. She presses her clammy palms hard against her forehead. “Shit,” she whispers. “Shit, _shit,_ Rapunzel’s in there, she’s in there with—with _Varian,_ they’re trapped in there, how do we—?”

She can’t finish her sentence, the scope of the situation too horrible to say aloud. Eugene swallows hard, his face ashen. It is only them here, in this barren landscape. Cassandra and Eugene, but who are they supposed to be, what are they supposed to do, without Rapunzel by their side as she is meant to be?

They are chained to this barren land, and Rapunzel is entombed in the rocks.

Rapunzel, trapped, with Varian—of all people, _Varian._ The boy who hates Rapunzel more than anyone else, the boy who tried to kill her, _that boy,_ trapped with her. She is caught in a prison, facing the dangers of this dark kingdom alone, while Cassandra and Eugene are…

They should never have come here, Cassandra thinks. They should never have dared set foot in this dead land, they should never have approached that awful mountain. Finding answers? What a joke. What answers? The moment they entered this awful place, they have experienced nothing but grief.

“ _Damn it!_ ” Cassandra shouts, her fury spiking, and she whirls away, hand clenched tight around the hilt of her sword. “Damn it! Why now! Why this! Things were finally getting—” She snarls low, shaking her head. “Why _Varian!_ Of all people! Why does it have to be _him!_ ”

“At least she isn’t alone,” Eugene murmurs, sounding distant and not all there. If he means that to be a comfort, then it is a very poor one indeed. Cassandra turns to him, incredulous.

“It’d be _better_ if she were alone _,”_ she says, voice cracking. Even as she says the words, though, she is not entirely sure of their truth. Cassandra may not know all of Rapunzel’s history, but she knows enough. Stone walls, no exits, and alone to boot? It would be something out of Rapunzel’s darkest nightmares. “He could—they’re trapped, _she’s_ trapped, with _him—”_

“He pushed us out of the way,” Eugene whispers back, but his conviction is weak, tired and lacking. His eyes are dazed, looking off into a distant horizon, and he seems a moment away from collapsing. It seems to take all he has to just stay here in the present with her. “He saved us.”

Yes, he had. Varian had pushed them out of the way of that first wave of rock, and what is Cassandra supposed to do with that? How is she supposed to feel? What is she supposed to do, how is she supposed to think or act, when every time she turns around, Varian has changed himself all over again?

Cassandra laughs because she has no other way of responding. She is bitter, furious, terrified to her core. “Does—does that even matter?”

Eugene doesn’t look at her. He stares down at the dead soil as if he thinks he can find the answers they seek in the dirt. “Doesn’t it?” he murmurs lowly.

Cassandra bites at her inner cheek, glaring out at nothing. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t really want to say it. At last she steps away from him, inhaling deeply through her nose.

“Whatever. We—we have to find them. Regardless. Soon.” She paces to and fro with restless energy, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “It’s only been a, a few hours, so she should be okay—” _If she wasn’t hurt, if she isn’t hurting now… No, no, don’t think about that._  

“—She should be okay,” Cassandra finishes firmly, squashing her doubts like she might an ant beneath her thumb. She feels rattled, uncertain, some core foundation of her being having started to chip away. “I don’t know how much food Rapunzel has, but it should buy us some time—”

Eugene makes a noise in the back of his throat at this, something small and wounded. Cassandra whirls to face him, her fear spiking. Eugene looks awful. His face has gone colorless, his eyes wide. He looks as if she’s punched him.

Cassandra stares at him, her heart sinking. “…What, what is it, what—”

“The food,” Eugene says, barely above a whisper. “The rations.”

“Eugene—”

He isn’t listening anymore. He’s rocking on his heels, looking vaguely stunned and a bit like the ground has been torn out from under him. Fragile and furious in equal measure, torn in two by the sheer scope of what they are dealing with.

“I have all the rations,” Eugene says finally, voice gone numb. His eyes are wide with horror. “I— _I have—_ Rapunzel, Varian, they don’t—”

The implications of what he’s saying strike her suddenly. Cassandra’s breath locks in her throat. No rations… _none,_ none at all, and they hadn’t eaten midday before approaching the mountain. All at once, their time has abruptly been cut down. A week, to barely four days, likely even less. No food or water, and she can’t even consider how much air they might have…

Whatever calm Cassandra has grasped slips out from between her fingers. The panic returns, rising up like the tide, unstoppable, constant, never truly ebbing. She scrambles to regain her composure, to find any silver lining in this nightmare of a scenario. “Quick, tell me, what does—what does Rapunzel have in her satchel? Do you know?”

Eugene shivers, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them again in a nervous gesture. His pulse has jumped, and his eyes dart around, focusing on nothing in particular. “Her—her book, paints, her brush… herbs, random flowers, pretty stones and crystals she liked the look of, Cass, it’s her _satchel_ , it’s not—she wouldn’t have—”

His voice breaks, cutting off, all out of words. Eugene shakes his head and brings up his hands to hide his face, rocking back on his heels. “Fuck, _fuck,_ she wouldn’t even have—a, a midday or snack or—”

His hands are twisting in his hair, his back bowed with the horrible realization, the awful reality of it all. Trapped, with Varian, and no food—time is slipping quickly from their grasping fingers, leaving them stuck with a problem they have no way to solve.

“No,” Cassandra breathes, throat tight and strangled, every word a fight to force past her numb lips. “No, it’s not the end, not like this, there’s got to be a way—”

She doesn’t even realize she’s drawn her sword until the gleam catches in her eye, the naked blade a silver flash in the dim sunset. The hilt she holds in a shaking fist, so tight her knuckles have gone white. The leather wrappings tear painfully against her skin when she turns her grip.

Cassandra marches up to the mountain, newly reinforced, a literal wall between them and Rapunzel. Her hands are shaking. Her face is flushed, her teeth bared, her eyes blown wide and furious.

“This isn’t it, you hear me!” she shouts at it, her voice trembling, her words low. “This isn’t—Rapunzel! _RAPUNZEL!_ Answer me! Where are you! Where are you!?”

She pulls back her arm, tightens her grips, and strikes her sword against the black rock.

The blade shatters instantly upon contact with the stone—no hesitation and no resonance, not even a crack. Cassandra bites down on a sob, turns it into a snarl. She twirls the hilt of her now-broken sword in her hands and jabs the remaining point at the mountain, trying to pry it between the many rocks building up the wall, to see if there is any gap, any way through—

 _“Cass!_ ”

Eugene grabs her arm, yanking her back from the rocks. He pulls her out of the way seconds before a pale white flash nearly blinds them both, and a spike bursts up in front of them.

The rock misses Cassandra by less than an inch. The deadly spire shoots straight up in front of her, rising into the sky. A second later, and it would have gone right through her. Just like that, without any warning—impaled, dead, useless.

Cassandra stares, open-mouthed, the hilt dropping from suddenly numb fingers. Eugene’s fingers are wrapped uncomfortably tight around her arm, dragging her back a bit further. His breathing echoes loud in her ears, a tremble running through his hands.

As they watch, the new growth of black rock rises up high into the air, before at last it spins and angles itself, lying flat along the mountainside, blending into the other rocks. Almost like an afterthought, almost innocent, as if this new rock hadn’t burst up solely to try to kill Cassandra.

“ _What_ —” Cassandra starts, shaken by this abrupt turn, and Eugene yanks at her arm again, dragging her father back. She lets him, stumbling against him accidentally in her haste to create distance between them and the mountain. She can feel him shaking. “What was _that?”_

“Don’t go near the cliff face,” Eugene says in reply, hysteria pitching his voice high. “We shouldn’t. Rapunzel said— she said she saw a, a face, a _thing,_ and those spikes, that trap, it was…” He’s almost rambling, he’s talking so fast, but even then, there is no mistaking the rising fury in his voice, born from frustration and a helpless fear. “It was intent,” Eugene spits, his grip tightening painfully around Cassandra’s arm, “there was thought behind it, and what if… what if that thing is still _in_ there?”

 _That thing._ As if there is a mind behind all this grief, a plot to this destruction. It feels almost laughable, and yet—that earlier attack, it had seemed intentional then, separating them all, and now too, with this response. The rock rising up after Cassandra attacked the mountain… as if, in her anger, Cassandra had perhaps _annoyed_ it…

She feels sick. She remembers Rapunzel’s pale face and terrified eyes, her incoherent attempts to explain what she’d seen, and feels even worse. A face in the reflection, and it had been _smiling…_

Cassandra hadn’t seen anything like that. Not a face, not a person, not even a creature… but what she hadn’t seen, she had perhaps felt _._

That moment Rapunzel stepped forward to touch the rocks, eyes glazed as if seeing a dream… A weight had fallen heavy on Cassandra’s shoulders, crushing her down. There had been this sense of power, almost, the sense of something beside her. A being unlike any other, something so strange and so powerful and so _old_. The sense that this thing had seen Cassandra, all of her in her entirety, and then had dismissed her with nothing more than a laugh, brushing her off like she was little more than a speck of dust on its shoulder. Small, weak, _insignificant._

Cassandra had assumed it was nerves, or fear of the looming mountain, because to assume otherwise was madness. But now she isn’t so sure.

If _that_ is what has trapped Rapunzel and Varian, if that thing is in the mountain, with _Rapunzel…_

Cassandra’s blood runs cold.

She has never felt so useless before in her life, never felt terror on this scale. Cassandra shakes off Eugene’s hand, and breaths in deep through her nose, trying to calm herself. The more she knows, the worse everything gets. Unbreakable rock, limited air, no food or water…. And now, this. A new threat, a _powerful_ threat, one they know nothing about.

What, exactly, is Cassandra supposed to do?

“ _Fuck,_ ” Cassandra hisses, frustration spiking like a hot poker to her insides. “No, no this doesn’t mean anything!”

Eugene sounds tired. “Cass—”

“No matter what may be behind this, or what happened, it’s not—” She struggles to find her words, to speak. She rounds on Eugene, yanking at his shirt, dragging him down to face her, near spitting in his face. “Raps isn’t dead!” Cassandra shouts. “She isn’t going to die, she can’t, this doesn’t mean she’s _gone_!”

“Doesn’t it?” Eugene says, an echo of his earlier words, but his eyes have gone distant.

He is trembling, Cassandra realizes suddenly, her heart dropping. He’s— _crying._ Not even fighting her grip, standing shock-still and shaking like a leaf in the wind, quiet tears trailing down his cheeks. He doesn’t even seem to notice. He looks devastated, wrecked, he looks—he looks like a broken man.

It unnerves her, and Cassandra has the sudden sense that this has been a long time coming, something she should have foreseen. It makes her feel awful inside, to see it now, to know she missed it. A terrible guard and a terrible friend.

“Eugene,” Cassandra says, feeling useless, staring at him. “I…”

Cassandra doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what comfort to give. Her anger withers and dies in her throat, furious words falling away, the residue like ash on her tongue. Eugene is… he is as terrified and hurt as she is, Cassandra realizes. Just as scared, and just as helpless.

He doesn’t need her anger. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Eugene… it’s—it’s Rapunzel. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

No response. Cassandra swallows hard and places a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Breathe,” she says finally. “C’mon, Fitzherbert… breathe.”

She sounds lost to her own ears, frightened and freaked. Eugene laughs into his hands, or maybe sobs, and lifts his head to look at her. His eyes are tired, rimmed with red, still shiny with new tears. “Oh,” he says, and he sounds sad, wretched and tired. “You’re scared? You? I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cassandra doesn’t say anything. She can’t even force a smile.

His expression falls, just slightly. “How did this _happen?”_

She doesn’t have an answer for him.

Eugene shakes his head and drags his arm across his eyes. “Right,” he says, voice cracking. “Right. This is—this is no time for hysterics. You’re right. We need to… keep trying. Keep going.” His breath shudders out in a long sigh. “Rapunzel will be okay.”

Cassandra stares at him, and doesn’t have the heart to respond. She doesn’t know what to say, and she is abruptly terrified of saying the wrong thing. It is just them, now. Just them, and the thought of having Eugene break down on her is more frightening than she ever thought it could be. She’d had no idea how much she had started to depend on his cheerfulness, his stability and calm, until the second it began to falter.

“She… she _has_ to be,” Eugene says, his anger drained, his voice quiet, and Cassandra tightens her grip on his shoulder. She thinks she might be sick. Her own eyes burn like hot coals. The sour taste of bile lingers in the back of her throat.

“Yes,” Cassandra says roughly, voice thin, heart strangled inside her chest. She feels hollow and gutted, her insides scraped out with a rusty spoon. Even to herself, her words are weak, lacking in conviction, lacking in true belief.

“I’m sure Rapunzel is just fine,” Cassandra says, and prays to whatever being might be listening that it’s the truth.

-

Varian isn’t sure when he finally drifts off to sleep.

In truth, he doesn’t entirely realize he’s been sleeping until he suddenly jolts awake. The icy air of the cave makes his head feel hot and stuffy, his skin prickling uncomfortably at the sensation. His leg is hot, almost burning, and his ear is not much better. Altogether, it creates a stifling and smothering sort of haze, a fog that makes it hard for him to know what is going on, what he’s doing, whether he is awake or dozing.

In the cave, time passes strangely. Varian doesn’t know how long it’s been, and he is past the point of caring. He feels caught, torn in two, held in place somewhere between reality and a terrible dream. The small quarters and dim lighting do not help with this. Black behind his eyelids when he sleeps; only the faintest of blue glows to comfort him when he wakes.

The horrible situation is at times distant, and at others it is too close for comfort. He can’t even start to think of a solution. Each time he remembers where they are, some small and childish part of him wants to cry again.

He probably would, but then, Varian is too exhausted for tears. One last chance, one last hope, and it’s all gone. Rapunzel has even stopped calling out, by now, after all these hours. Varian knows there won’t be any answer. He suspects she is starting to understand that too.

Months spent on experimenting on the rocks, weeks on the amber. Varian had tried everything. Every obstacle they’ve faced, he could fight through, but this one… the rocks, he can’t, he just _can’t._ Months of trying to save his village have already driven in how hopeless it is.

It’s like his worst nightmare come to life. Trapped by the one thing Varian still shudders to think about, the one horror he can’t escape, he can’t fight against. It can’t be real, but it is, and worst of all…

If they don’t find a solution soon, they are going to die here.

The thought hangs over his head like the sword of an executioner about to swing. Varian picks at his broken foot cuff, trails his fingers over the uneven cave wall in a desperate bid for a gap. Nothing beneath his fingers but stone. The foot cuff is secure on his ankle, dented from the rocks but still in one piece. His handcuffs rub raw against his already smarting skin, jangle incessantly in his ears.

No way out magically presents itself, and worse still, Varian is the weakest he’s ever been. His head is stuffy and his ear is swollen; his leg pulses with an awful and constant discomfort, rooted beneath his skin. The darkness makes him shudder, the exhaustion drains him. Hunger gnaws at his stomach.

This past week, Varian has barely slept, let alone eaten. When their small group had approached the mountain, none of them had stopped to eat for lunch. They’d been so consumed by the answers dancing before them, the end they all so desperately sought, that things like rest and food had utterly slipped their minds.

Varian regrets it now. His stomach is an empty hole, an awful pit, and jabs of sharp pain remind him of how little he has eaten. How much of their limited time has already been wasted.

Time passes strangely here, Varian knows, but it is still passing. How long has it been? How long have they been trapped here? A few hours? Almost a day?

Does it even matter? They aren’t getting out. They aren’t ever getting out. The moment that final black rock slotted into place, their lives have been set on a timer.

At this reminder, a flash of bitterness cuts through the fog surrounding his mind. He _could_ have gotten out, Varian remembers. He could have escaped, he could have—but Rapunzel, she had dragged him away from the light, she had dragged him back, and she had doomed them both to die.

She has killed them both, and Varian has never hated her more than at this moment.

His anger swells and ebbs like a tide, rising up and then fading just as fast. He is furious, exhausted, terrified to his bones. Too tired to hate, too despairing to feel nothing. He’s caught in the middle and no compromise has been accepted.

Varian wants to be angry. He is tired of falling. Tired of failing. 

He is terribly aware of Rapunzel, of her presence, of the blue light radiating out from where her fingers brush the black rock. She is silent, now. Hours of yelling have worn down her voice to ruin. Her ceaseless yelling had needled at him, her persistent faith that someone would answer even when her calls for help went ignored. Yet now that she has stopped, he finds himself unsettled, almost missing it. In this cage, there is no sound but for their breathing and the jangle of his chains or the rustle of their clothes as they move. Silence, in all the ways that matter, and he cannot stand it.

Varian closes his eyes and grits his teeth. A wall at his back, before him, surrounding him. Walls, everywhere he looks. It is smaller than even his cell back in Corona, and oh, he hates it. He hates it so much he could scream.

Varian didn’t have to be here.

“It’s your fault,” he hisses, out into the silence. He feels almost strangled, something wound tight around his neck. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to speak, but in such a small and silent room it would take a miracle for her not to hear him. “It’s all your fault.”

Rapunzel doesn’t answer him. She is lying limp against the corner of their prison, head bowed. Her eyes open at these words, stare out at nothing—then close, silently, as if to answer him takes an energy she simply doesn’t wish to give.

She doesn’t even _look_ at him.

This dismissal infuriates him, and life returns to him, the fog over his thoughts briefly lifting. His stomach twists in hunger, and his body aches like a bruise where Rapunzel had thrown him to the ground. “It’s your fault!” he shouts at her, his voice magnified by the room, the small quarters. It bounces off the rocks and echoes in his ears. “You, you held me back! You stopped me—why did you—we could have gotten out! I didn’t have to be here!”

Rapunzel doesn’t open her eyes again. She shakes her head slightly, her long hair swaying gently with the motion. “No,” she says finally. Her voice is a ruin, a rough and torn sound, unrecognizable. Stripped clean of any softness, any silk, left broken by her own fruitless attempts at escape. “No. You wouldn’t have made it.”

“You don’t know that!” Varian cries out. Tears prick at his eyes, and he blinks them away just as fast. Bad enough he cried the first time—no, he can’t cry now, he _won’t_ , not in front of her, of all people. He’s angry, he’s _angry,_ he can’t cry now. “You have no idea what would have happened! I could have—”

“We couldn’t make it,” Rapunzel says shortly. Her eyes are open again, but she still doesn’t look at him. Her body is tense, held carefully still as if she is afraid of reacting. “I… we couldn’t, okay? It would have killed us!”

“There was time!” Varian snaps back. “I could have—I could have figured something out! I could have gotten out!” He feels restless, almost jumpy, and wishes, not for the first time, that he could pace. His injured leg stings at the mere thought, and Varian remains seated. “What, did you just not want to be trapped here alone? Did you want to drag me down with you, is that it?”

At this Rapunzel draws herself upright. Her eyes flicker to him—hold his gaze for a moment—and Varian cringes away without meaning to, unable to hold her stare. He can see her look away too, from the corner of his eye.

“No,” Rapunzel whispers. Her voice is shaking, volume rising, laced with something like resentment. She swallows audibly. When she speaks next that something is gone, and her words now are simply tired. “No, that’s not why. We couldn’t make it, okay? That thing—”

All this he has heard before, in some form or another, but one word catches his interest. She keeps saying it, but Varian doesn’t know what the hell she means by it. He curls his fingers into the soft fabric of Eugene’s old shirt and spits, “ _What_ thing?”

For a moment he thinks Rapunzel might actually tell him, that there might be an answer for her strange assurance. Then the moment fades, and her eyes drop to the ground. She swallows hard, shivering with something other than cold, drawing her arms around her in a makeshift hug.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, voice soft.

Varian stares at her, incredulous. “Doesn’t matter!?” She knows something, she has seen something, and if there is any chance of them escaping, then Varian needs to know too. He _wants_ to know. He is sick to death of having things kept from him.

_No, son. You aren’t ready._

 “What,” Varian snarls, fury rising without any warning. “Do you just—do you just not want to tell me? If you know something—!”

“And why would I tell you?” Rapunzel asks, the words dull. She turns her face away from him, towards the wall, speaking to the stone. “It’s not… It won’t get us out of here, Varian, okay? I don’t want to talk about it with you! I don’t—”

She goes abruptly silent, and Varian starts laughing. He pretends it isn’t hysteria, pretends he isn’t nearly crying. Her words, unspoken though they are, hit him hard.

 “You don’t trust me,” he finishes, vibrating with rage. He is furious. (He can’t blame her.) “Sure, why not! I already knew that.” He waves his hands, the chains clinking loudly at the motion. “That’s why I’m in _chains,_ isn’t it, Princess?”

Her voice goes suddenly cold. “And whose fault is that, Varian? Mine?”

“Yes!”

Rapunzel lifts her head, her shoulders pulled back, her lips pulling back into a snarl. Her hands are clenched into tight fists, the pale blue glow shadowing her clawed fingers. “ _I’m_ not the one who—!”

All at once she goes white, the color draining from her face, and stops talking. Rapunzel stares Varian in the eyes and then flinches back from him, mouth snapping shut. She leans away, as far as she can, curling up against the wall.

“Okay,” she says. Her voice is thin, quaking faintly. She doesn’t sound angry. She doesn’t sound afraid, either. Maybe something of both, or maybe just tired, but whatever it is, it makes Varian feels sick to hear it. “Fine. Think what you will.”

Varian waits, but she says nothing else, and she doesn’t look at him again. He wants to shout at her, he wants to scream, he wants—

He doesn’t know what he wants.

He is trapped in a cage of unbreakable stone, trapped in a prison of his own worst nightmares, and he cannot shake the awful thought that this is the end. He is going to die here. They are both going to die here—Princess Rapunzel and Varian, and even now, even with that, she still can’t look him in the eyes.

_I wasn’t wrong!_

But really, is Varian any better? He doesn’t know how to feel about Rapunzel. He hates her, he does, and yet… every time he meets her eyes he remembers the arrow and guilt rises in his throat. And then he remembers Ruddiger, and her apology, and—

He doesn’t know. He just… doesn’t know.

She dragged him down, she has trapped them here, and perhaps this should be enough to solidify his hate for her, to ease the tangled mess of thoughts his mind has become. But it’s not. She has killed them both, but she also saved him, when the rocks came. She pulled him out of the way not once, but twice.

He had saved her too. Her, and Eugene, and Cassandra… he had pushed them out of the way without a second thought, and Varian can’t understand why. His last chance to save his dad, and he wasted it saving them, instead.

The tears rise up again, without warning. They burn hot behind his eyes, make his breathing hitch and his chest tight. It’s an awful feeling, crying. It has never failed to make him feel like the child he is, the child he doesn’t want to be. 

He feels an awful lot like a child, right about now.

Varian buries his face into his knees.

_I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry._

He wishes he hadn’t met them. He wishes Rapunzel had not taken him from that cell; he wishes he had never gone on this journey. At least in Corona, he had believed in his actions, in his conviction. There, he could hate them in peace. No month-long journey to actually start making him  _care._

He misses Ruddiger, misses what it was like to not feel pain, misses his dad most of all.

Varian is out of time. He’s lost his chance, he’s failed to save Dad and find the answers he needs, and at the end of it all—he’s accomplished absolutely nothing.

Everything he’s done, and he has nothing to show for it.

On his ankle, the broken foot cuff rubs raw against his skin. Another mark of how things have changed. He is almost used to it, by now. And what a thing to get used to! Months ago, Varian would have never dreamed of it—of losing his dad, of hating the Princess, of— _this._ Chains around his ankle, his ear torn and ruined, his life consumed and ended by the black rocks he once found so fascinating.

The rage that wells up in comforting in its familiarity. There is a rock on the ground by his feet, a normal one. Varian picks it up and drives it at his ankle in a fit of temper. It bounces off the foot cuff and he tries again, slamming it harder. He hits his fingers by accident and they ache.

He strikes again, harder this time, hard enough that he can feel the sharp hit of the rock through the cuff, shaking up his leg. They had changed which foot the iron ball was on, Varian knows, once his leg had been injured—if they hadn’t, he’d be feeling so much worse.

In this moment their pity is wasted on him. Varian slams the rock into the hinge of his cuff, nails scraping against the heavy iron, the rock starting to crumble in his hands. He hits it again, _again,_ harder and harder, fighting the urge to scream, to cry.

At last the cuff breaks, shatters with a creak and pathetic screech. The iron falls free, already dented from an encounter with the rocks. He had escaped unscathed from that only to be left to die here, and Varian is _furious._

He picks up the broken cuff and in a fit of temper throws it against the far wall. It slams against the black rocks and shatters like glass, broken shrapnel spraying out across the dirt floor. It slams close to Rapunzel’s head and she flinches badly, hand coming up over her face to protect her from the metal shards.

Varian doesn’t care. “It’s your fault,” he whispers. His dad, the amber, this whole awful situation… “It’s _all_ your fault.”

She doesn’t answer, and Varian turns away, heart aching. He slumps against the cave wall and wonders dully which will kill them first. The lack of air, or lack of food.

He hopes, whichever it is, it is at least quick.

-

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in a tower.

She lived there not because she wanted to, but because she was forced to, trapped in those stone walls at the whim of a woman with more greed than heart. But the girl loved the woman, and so she lived in that tower her whole life, all eighteen years of it. Year after year in that small room with that one window. Year after year in a world no bigger than a tower.

And then, one day, the little girl got out. She escaped the woman and her tower, and found freedom in the outside world, in her love and her new family. Or so she thought.

 For the world outside her tower was vast, so incredibly vast it sometimes scared her. And the new parents she found loved her dearly, but they had towers too. And the world did not want the girl to be free, so it made a new chain for her and called it fate, and when the girl tried to escape it…

Sometimes the world was so big it frightened her. But it is small rooms that are the worst, for they remind the girl of her childhood home, and the window that was not a door, and a world no bigger than—

No bigger than a tower room, and this cave is even smaller than that.

Rapunzel cannot, for the life of her, stop thinking about it. Once upon a time, like a storybook tale, the old legends Gothel used to read to her when she was young, if Rapunzel asked nicely enough and at a good time. The lovely Sun and her devoted Moon, the inventor with a thousand tricks, the man whose heart became so cold he turned into a demon. Her story certainly sounds like those fairytales, told like this. Except Rapunzel’s tale didn’t end with Gothel falling from the tower, and it didn’t end when she found her kingdom.

Some part of her—a small part, at first, but is growing bigger and louder every hour—thinks perhaps her tale will end here, instead. That her story is not a fairytale, not a happily-ever-after… but a tragedy.

It’s been hours since Rapunzel stopped yelling for Eugene, since her voice grew too thin and hands too bruised to continue. More than a few hours since they’ve been trapped here. A day, at least—maybe more. Maybe many more.

The air is thin and hot, and she is dizzy. Sharp motions make her head spin, and she has started to breathe heavily, faster, as if she isn’t getting as much air as she used to. They are running out of time, and perhaps that is the only designation that matters. How long have they been here? Too long.

Too long by far.

Nothing changes. There is no answering cry from the outside, no promise of rescue. No voice calls for them, no hands pry them from their cage of stone. No matter how hard Rapunzel tries, no matter her pleas or force of will, the black rocks never react beyond a simple glow.

She’s trying, she’s trying so hard, but Rapunzel is growing tired. Hunger gnaws at her empty stomach, a painful twisting she can’t ignore, a deep-seated ache that keeps her awake and makes her want to cry. Her hands are swollen and bruised, fingers molted black and blue and green in the pale blue glow, and they shake all the time now, her arms too exhausted to hold still or steady. The air is hot and oppressive, too close, too thin. They’ll run out soon, Rapunzel thinks. Their air is limited and its growing shorter with every breath.

Nothing has changed, and there is nothing to distract her. No friends here to talk to, or chores to do, or people to find comfort in. Solely Varian, and Rapunzel, and the rocks.

Varian is ignoring her. His earlier tantrums have eased off into blank staring, his childish fits and fury died down into a blank acceptance. Rapunzel—she had been grateful, at first, for the silence and for the peace, but now it grates on her.

It is so _empty_ here, so lonely, so awfully quiet. She can’t look at Varian but the idea of staying another moment in here—another second of silence, another time without conversation or noise or— _anything,_ anything at all… she thinks it might drive her mad.

At least in her tower, she had Pascal.

Rapunzel slumps against the cave wall, and closes her eyes. She thinks back to Varian’s furious words—his accusations, his denial, and even the memory is enough to make anger bubble up in her chest.

She stamps down the anger, stifles her hurt and her ire. This is no time to get upset. She pushes the emotions away and focuses on the words instead.

_It’s your fault!_

He has said that before, Rapunzel recalls. Barely even a week ago, right after he took out the stolen arrow. She wonders what it is he’s blamed her for. A small and bitter part of her wonders nastily if she even deserves it.

Rapunzel sucks in a sharp breath, shaking her head clear of those thoughts. No, she shouldn’t snap at him. He’s stressed, scared… young and frightened. And he’s right, in a way— she had dragged him back, she had pulled him away, and… he deserves to be angry about that. Especially if he doesn’t know why.

Should she tell him why?

Logic says yes. Maybe he can help her. Maybe, if Rapunzel gives him one more chance—one last opening, despite her fear and her anger and her hurt—maybe he’ll even agree to help.

Her heart, however, quails at the thought. Rapunzel doesn’t _want_ to talk to him. The idea of sharing anything with him… not merely information, but her fears, her terror at what she saw and where they are… the very idea is bone-chilling. Hard enough, to admit such things to people she loves and trusts. But to _Varian_?

Yet, he is trapped here with her. Her dislike of the situation won’t change it. And if… if what Rapunzel saw truly _is_ still here… still watching… then this alone he deserves to know. This much she can bear to tell him.

She exhales slowly, almost to the beat of meditation. Seven-count inhale, hold, seven-count exhale. She straightens against the wall, and pointedly doesn’t stand or loom over him. Rapunzel can do this. She can talk to Varian, and maybe if she is careful she won’t irritate him.

She hopes he won’t go looking for a fight.

“Varian?”

He doesn’t respond. That makes it almost easier, somehow, to speak with him. Rapunzel is not talking to Varian, to the boy with chains on his skinny wrists, the boy who held the arrow over her head and said she made him do it. She is talking—to no-one, maybe, to herself, and maybe if she pretends enough, she can make it through this.

“You asked why I pulled you back,” Rapunzel tells the air, struggling to find the right place to start. “I… we wouldn’t have made it. I _know_ we wouldn’t have made it.”

He still doesn’t answer. Rapunzel rubs nervously at her bruised hands and keeps going. The words are murder on her sore throat, but they won’t get anywhere by sitting in silence.

“I don’t think you saw it,” she admits to herself. “I don’t think anyone saw it but me. But it was _there,_ Varian, it was in the rocks, and… it was smiling. When I first touched the mountain—and when, when the rocks were caging us in…”

Her voice withers, goes small and tight. “It just watched. And smiled. Like it _knew._ ”

Silence, and then— “It?” Varian asks finally, and shifts until he is almost sitting up. “What— what do you mean?”

“It wasn’t a person,” Rapunzel says slowly, with finality. “It—it didn’t look like a person. It looked like—a shadow, and it had these… these _wide,_ glowing eyes, this real pale yellow… and its mouth, its _smile,_ I—” She shudders at the memory. “It was so wide. Too wide.” No human could make such a smile, no mortal creature could possibly. Face-to-face, and the creature had smiled, and its bright eyes had stared right through her.

 _Ah,_ it had said. _At last, dear Sundrop, you have come._

No words, not really. More like a thought, or a whisper on the wind, barely heard and barely felt. But _there,_ regardless, and as Rapunzel had watched that creature’s smile had stretched into something truly inhuman, a perfect crescent, a laughing moon.

_It is so very nice to meet you._

At that, Rapunzel had pulled away, her limbs her own, her mind cleared. And then it had only been her, her reflection and her fear in those rocks, but the memory of those words and that smile remained, and then the black rocks had started to rise…

“It was there,” Rapunzel says finally, drawing herself back to the present. “When— when we were trapped, and the rocks started—e-enclosing us in, it was _there,_ Varian, and it was _laughing._ I—we couldn’t have made it. Even if we could, I… I don’t think it would have let us.”

Varian doesn’t say anything.

“It sounds crazy, I know. But—I know I saw it. And…” She stops, throat closing up. Her mind is whirling, her words starting to ramble. Rapunzel forgets herself, forgets who, exactly, she is speaking to. “Y-you wanna know something dumb? I think—I think I’ve seen it before… I saw something like it, a day ago, in a dream...”

She goes quiet. “It’s funny,” Rapunzel whispers. “In the dream, you were… you were there too.”

A sharp clank makes her head snap up, her train of thought fraying and snapping like a lone thread. Rapunzel stares at Varian, half-forgetting he’s been with her. He stares back. He’s drawn himself against the wall, pulled away from her—arms held close to his chest, face washed out in the dim blue light, eyes wide.

As she watches, he calms himself, looking away, his breathing rasping in the quiet. He is shaking, she realizes. He is…

“Varian?”

“So what,” he whispers back, before she can finish speaking. “What, what are you saying—that this, this thing, you’ve seen it before?” His voice lowers, words a snarl. “This is all because of you?”

She feels inexplicably hurt by these words, and then her fury returns. Rapunzel clenches her ruined hands into a shaking fist. “No,” she says, trying her best to keep from snapping at him. Varian responds poorly to anger, and Rapunzel—Rapunzel of all people has learned that the hard way. “I don’t— it can’t—that doesn’t make sense. I, in the dream, it didn’t… _attack_ or, or anything—I could barely even see it!”

“Whatever! You saw it, right? That makes it your fault!”

 “That doesn’t even make sense,” Rapunzel says again, fighting to keep her voice calm, her words level. Her skin crawls, her blood boiling. She holds it back. “Varian, I’m telling you this because you deserve to know, so we have the same information, so we can work together!”

Varian doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s half-way to hysterical laughter, head propped up by his hand, his eyes flinty and cruel. “I knew it,” he says. “I _knew_ it. This is your fault. It’s going to kill us both, all because of _you.”_

Rapunzel shakes her head. “No,” she says, but his words—said so absolutely, said with such conviction that some part of her cannot help but believe him—they make her heart falter. “This isn’t what I wanted, I— That’s not true.”

“We’re going to die here,” Varian tells her. He talks like he means the words to be cruel, and they are, but mostly he sounds tired. As if this looming possibility has flayed him alive, and now he’ll do anything to ensure it hurts her too.

“We’ll get out,” Rapunzel promises, strangling her rage. This isn’t what she wanted to happen. Why, why does he always do this? Why can’t he ever just _work_ with her? “We’ll get out,” she says again, but her voice is weak, and her faith is fading. “We’re _going_ to  _live.”_

Varian says nothing else, but in the dark, she can see his mouth twist.

“I don’t know anymore,” he tells her, very softly. “I—I don’t think we will. Do _you?”_

Rapunzel doesn’t answer. She’s so angry she thinks she might scream from the force of it, so tired and uncertain she could cry. She turns her head away and hides her face in her knees, and tries not to think of towers, or small rooms, or an open window that didn’t have bars but may as well have.

The cave is small, stifling, cloying. No windows and no doors. Rapunzel has lived her whole life in a prison, and now she might die in one, too.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a tower—lived in a prison—and even though she got out, at the end of it all she just found herself in a new one.

Rapunzel curls up on the cave floor and buries her face in her hands. Girl, tower, a creature or a witch, a room without doors. No way out, and no happy ending.

“It’s not the end,” Rapunzel promises herself, hopeless and furious, tired and trapped. She says the words, but she can no longer make herself believe them.

-

Eugene wakes up to a bright full moon.

For a long time he remains immobile, blinking blearily at that glowing beacon, squinting in the too-bright moonlight. His mind is blank, memory rebooting. For a moment, he is entirely at peace.

Then his mind catches up, and Eugene remembers. Rapunzel and Varian, trapped in the mountain. It is nearing the dawn of the second day, and no progress has been made.

Eugene sits up, rubbing at his eyes, body aching like a bruise. In this early morning, a strangely dense fog has rolled in, more in line with a coast city than a land-locked place like this one. In the moonlight the fog shines a pale blue-gray, almost mystical, and at any other time Eugene would have found it beautiful.

He doesn’t, now. All Eugene can think is that Rapunzel would have loved this, would have waved her arms and tried her best to describe the experience in words. She would have been reminded of a book, or a story, and she would have scrambled to find her brushes and journal, to sketch out the scene in full…

Rapunzel is not here, and the night’s beauty is wasted on Eugene. Already, even as he watches, the cloud cover is growing dense, gathering in the blank sky. By the time dawn arrives in a few hours, the sky will be dark once more. This magical moment will vanish, and Rapunzel will never see it.

Eugene stares up at the moon until his eyes water, hopelessness a sharp twist in his gut. Rapunzel, still missing. Varian, still gone. It has been two days since then—two days they have been trapped, without food or water. It makes Eugene dizzy just thinking about it. What if they are already too late? What if she is already…?

He feels suddenly sick, and he shakes his head, rising up to his feet. His own stomach cramps at the motion.

Food. He’ll find food, and then he’ll talk with Cassandra, and… and then they’ll see. It’s a new day, a new dawn. Surely something has changed. Surely they can come up with _some_ way to help _._

He presses his lips in a thin line and goes to the ration bag.

Eugene digs through the pack, carefully shifting the half-empty water canteens to one side, pushing back the empty cloth and supplies as he searches. He takes his time, despite his hunger—its feels strangely wrong to eat, knowing Rapunzel is starving.

His hand hits the bottom the pack.

Eugene blinks. He stares at the bag and shifts his hand around, searching. Water canteens, cloth, supplies. No rations.

His gut clenches. Eugene stops breathing.

This time, he isn’t careful. He dumps out the pack into the dead white-gray dirt, picking up each item to check. Water, cloth, supplies. No rations. No food. None.

His breathing quickens, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The night before, that meager meal… had that been the last of it? All of their food, gone. It took them a week to travel here by horse, and they haven’t found Maximus or Fidella yet, either. There’s nothing growing here, no people living here… nothing for miles around.

“No,” Eugene snarls. His temper sparks, fury rising so quick it nearly blinds him. “No, no, no— _damn it!”_

He grabs the empty pack and throws it across the empty plain. It lands limp and empty in the dirt only a few feet away. There is no satisfaction in it. No solution to be found.

It was never going to last. He always knew it couldn’t. But the idea of leaving—of leaving this mountain and Rapunzel behind them… Eugene can’t do it, no matter how badly his stomach twists, no matter how parched his throat. It would feel too much like leaving Rapunzel and Varian behind, too much like abandoning them to their fate. He can’t. Eugene just… _can’t._

But they are out of food, now. Out of rations. If Cassandra and Eugene don’t decide soon, then this place will become their grave.

“Eugene?”

Eugene goes still, frozen mid-motion at the sound of her voice. Then his shoulders slump, the fight and fury draining out of him. “Cass.”

He can hear her step up behind him, her movement cautious. She had taken the second watch, Eugene remembers. She must have been awake. She must have seen him throwing a fit. 

Eugene doesn’t have the heart to tell her, not yet. He bites back the urge to scream and forces a smile instead, letting loose a weak laugh. “S-so, uh, any news? Or sign, or—”

“No,” Cassandra says shortly. Her voice is very quiet.

Eugene swallows back his disappointment. “Oh. Okay.”

They are silent for a long time, not looking at each other. Abruptly, a stomach growls. Eugene flinches at the sound, placing a hand over his gut, digging his fingers into the rough fabric of his vest.

He forces another smile. “Sorry. Sorry, that was… me. Which, uh, s-speaking of which, Cassandra—the rations, ah…”

“Eugene. I know.”

“Oh.  …You know already, huh?” He laughs again, nails digging into his clothes, twisting hard. “No, no, of course you do. Man, I gotta ask, do you have Owl because of coincidence or did you, like, sense he had the same creepy know-it-all tendencies as you—”

“Eugene.”

He stops, cutting himself off, closing his mouth down on the words he might have said. “…Cass.”

Cassandra steps up beside him, where he is still kneeling in the dirt. She stops before she steps on the remnants of their supplies. She won’t look at him. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Eugene tries for another laugh, but it falls flat. He feels cold. “What—what do you—”

“This, Eugene, we can’t—we _can’t.”_ Her voice cracks, and she turns her head farther away, as if to hide her expression. He can still her, though. He can see the hopelessness in her eyes and on her face. “We’re out of food. We have to find Maximus and Fidella, hope there’s some rations left. We have to find supplies, food… a town, people—”

Eugene is suddenly standing. “No,” he breathes. He is furious, almost too angry to speak, his teeth grit and grinding. He thinks of leaving and his heart goes still, he thinks of Rapunzel and his head spins. “No, we can’t, what if Rapunzel—she might need us, we can’t leave! Not yet!”

“We can’t stay,” Cassandra says dully, not meeting his eyes.

 “How could you _say_ that,” Eugene snarls, feeling as if she’s stabbed him. Her anger, he could take. Her fear, he could handle. But this is, this hopelessness, this giving in… no, it is not like Cassandra, and he cannot even consider it. “Of course we can stay, she’d do it for _you—_ ”

“We’ll starve!”Cassandra snaps back, whirling on him. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright with tears and narrow with rage. “We. Are. Out. Of. Food. We’ll die! She wouldn’t have wanted us to—”

“Don’t talk about her like that, past tense, she’s not—she can’t—we have to _stay_!”

“We’ll die if we stay any longer,” Cassandra says flatly, face pale but words firm. “We might not make it, even now, but—we, we have to try, Eugene, I’m sorry.”

“We can’t leave her,” Eugene insists, hands clenched into tight fists. “I was heading towards a goddamn _hanging_ and I still managed to get out, I was there when she needed me. I’m not leaving her now!”

“She’d hate this,” Cassandra tells him. “If you died, for this, she’d—no. No, you are not dying on _me_ , Fitzherbert, you are not staying here, not even if I have to drag you—”

“ _I am not dying.”_

“What part of—you’ll starve! We’re already starving!”

“Then we find the—the animals, Maximus and Fidella and—we find them, get the food—”

“Are you out of your mind!” Cassandra cries out, abruptly grabbing at Eugene’s collar. She yanks him down to her level, glaring right into his eyes. “How much food do you think they  _have!?_ We were already running low when we arrived, and now— now!” Her voice cracks, and she releases his collar slowly, stepping away, shaking her head. He is stunned to see tears in her eyes. “No. No! We’re going. We’re finding Max and then we’re finding food.”

“We can’t leave,” Eugene says, but his fury has gone cold, his words a plea rather than a demand. Cassandra doesn’t meet his eyes again.

“This isn’t up for debate,” she says, cold, and then her voice breaks a little. “Please, Eugene… I hate it too, okay? I hate it so much,but—we have to live. We have to keep moving. We’re no use to her like this.”

He can’t breathe. His eyes burn. “Fine,” Eugene snarls, despair a lock around his heart. Helpless, again; useless, _again._ Nothing he does is ever enough, and Eugene could scream at the unfairness of it all. “Fine. We’ll go.”

Cassandra’s shoulders drop in wordless relief, and Eugene tries hard not to resent her for it. There is no joy in this victory, and they both know it.

It takes less time than Eugene would like for them to pack up. The former ration bag hangs light and loose, near empty. The others, they’ve barely touched. What good are clothes, bandages, and spyglasses when they have no food to eat?

They dally, the both of them, even though they probably shouldn’t. They linger at the mountain base, walk their stretch of it one last time. Every minute wasted is another strike against them, but… neither of them wants to leave.

Dawn comes, and the smog once more glazes over the sky. The bright moon and strange fog disperse in the gray daylight, chased away by the sun they cannot see. They walk the perimeter one last time, pacing to and fro until a ‘random’ spike shoots up a few paces in front of them.

Cassandra presses her lips into a thin line. Eugene grits his teeth. They leave after that with no more delay.

The rock settles against the mountain like all the others that have shot up around them these past two days, its message received. It seems strange to view a mountain as smug, but…

If he didn’t think it would get him impaled, Eugene would throw a rock at it. If there really is a mind behind all of this grief… _well._

He grinds his teeth to keep from shouting, and they leave the mountain base together.

Even then, Eugene lags. He walks behind Cassandra, dragging his steps. He can’t help but keep looking behind him, over his shoulder, at that looming mountain of unbreakable rock. _Blondie,_ he thinks, wishing desperately. _Now would be a really great time for a miraculous reappearance._

Nothing happens. Eugene swipes his arm across his traitorous eyes, and doesn’t look back again.

They walk for nearly an hour with no change, when, without any warning, Cassandra abruptly halts in place. The stop is so sudden Eugene nearly trips over her, stumbling to catch his feet, arms pinwheeling.

“Oi, Cass, what are you…”

Cassandra ignores him. One hand lifts to shade her eyes, and she squints into the distance. A faint smile starts to pull at her lips, when all at once that budding smile drops into a frown. She glares into the horizon, mouth set into a scowl, eyes narrow.

Eugene follows her gaze.

At first, he doesn’t understand it. The horizon is blank to him, rolling hills of dead grass and barren land. Then he squints, and tilts his head, and suddenly he can see them, black specks on the horizon.

Maximus and Fidella, two lone shadows, slowly moving towards them.

Eugene’s traitorous stomach twinges at the thought of food. Eugene clenches his jaw against the hunger pangs and turns to Cassandra, studying her. Her expression has grown thunderous, dark as a storm.

“Cass—”

She understands his question without him having to ask it, and shakes her head. “Look again,” she snaps and her hand rises to her back, flexing around the hilt of her broken sword. “They’re not alone.”

A shiver crawls down his spine. Eugene tugs his spyglass from his pack and points it at the animals. Maximus, white coat gray with dust; Fidella, her head drooping. Pascal, still that awful pasty yellow-white, Ruddiger curled up on the saddle… and a hooded figure walking beside them.

Eugene abruptly straightens. That looks like a _person._ And worse yet—it doesn’t look like anyone they know.

Cassandra grits her teeth and Eugene clenches his jaw. He passes Cassandra his sword and unclips Rapunzel’s frying pan from his belt, fighting the urge to break down. He holds it in a tight grip, the metal handle slick in his sweaty hands.

When the group is within earshot, Cassandra steps forward. “Stay back,” she warns. “Don’t come any closer!”

The stranger lifts both hands in the air, bizarrely calm. No fear in their stance or their motion, not even surprise. They are tall, taller than even Eugene—dressed in unfamiliar clothes and mostly covered with a dark cloak caked in the dust of this dead land.

“I’m not here to fight you,” they say. Their voice is calm, strangely husky, soft with compassion. “As I told your little friends there, I came to help.”

As they speak, the horses trot back to Eugene and Cassandra’s side. Maximus is the first to see the situation, and his whinny is low and horrified. On his head, Pascal’s small face whips back and forth, searching for Rapunzel. The small chameleon turns colorless once he finds she isn’t there. Ruddiger’s head pokes out of the saddlebag, and Eugene’s heart drops at the look on the little raccoon’s face.

Cassandra’s flinty expression doesn’t thaw with the return of the animals, but Eugene can see her hands tighten in response to their grief. “What _sort_ of help?” she demands.

“Food,” the stranger says quietly. “And information.” They chance a step closer, drawing the hood back from their head, showing their face at last. “I’m a friend, I promise.”

The newcomer is perhaps one of the strangest people Eugene has ever seen—a tall and broad-shouldered woman with a mass of white hair and dark red face paint splitting her face in two. She’s dressed in thick furs and warm leathers, sturdy boots and a coat. She is old, and yet appears strangely ageless— but for the crow’s feet lining her eyes, her features are still smooth. The hilt of a giant sword pokes out above her shoulder, and on her bare hand, a strange symbol is carved on her skin.

A circle bisected by three lines, like a comet, adorning her hand and her belt.

At the sight of that symbol, Cassandra goes abruptly pale, and her borrowed sword rises to point at the stranger’s face. “Who are you!”

“A friend, as I said,” the woman replies calmly. She acts oddly unthreatened by Cassandra’s outburst, her dark eyes almost pitying, laden with solemn understanding. “Please. This isn’t the time. Your friends are in grave danger.”

Eugene sucks in a breath. “You know—?”

“I know a lot,” the woman says patiently. She meets his eyes squarely, jaw clenched, a strange mix of guilt and pride in her face. “I don’t know how much I can help, but I’ll tell you everything I know. First, though… you need to eat.”

“We don’t—” Eugene starts.

“You do,” the woman says, cutting him off ruthlessly. Despite her sharp tone, her eyes are pitying. “I know you’re out of rations. I have plenty, and I am willing to share. Let me  _help_.”

Cassandra wavers. Her eyes flicker to the symbol, and then back to the woman again. “And if we aren’t interested in what you have to say?”

“You will be,” the woman replies, with solemn finality. “I promise to tell you what I can.” She moves her hand with the symbol behind her back, clasping her hands by the base of her spine, pulling herself tall. “Your friends aren’t dead, not yet. She won’t kill them until she gets what she wants. We don’t have a lot of time left, please, just _listen_ to me.”

Cassandra’s eyes flash, but Eugene steps forward, gripping her wrist to keep her from attacking. He stares at the newcomer, searching her face. Something hollow sits heavy in his gut. Despite her reassurance of Rapunzel’s survival, something in her voice doesn’t make it sound like a good thing.

“‘She?’” Eugene repeats. “She _who?_ We thought it was—a creature, a monster, I don’t…”

“That’s certainly one way to describe her,” the woman agrees. Old bitterness laces her voice, twists at her words. “Listen. I’ll tell you what I can. I swear to you, I am here only to help you.” She stretches out her hand to him. “My name is Adira.”

He searches her eyes, hesitating. Beside him, Cassandra stays quiet, moving back a step. Her eyes are on him. _This your mess,_ her expression seems to say. _You decide._

Eugene reaches out and grips the woman’s—Adira’s—hand in a firm handshake. “Eugene Fitzherbert,” he replies. His eyes narrow, and he squeezes her hand hard, taking a shot in the dark. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

Adira meets his stare plainly. She doesn’t return the test of strength, though her fingers twitch like she wants to. She draws back her hand without ever breaking eye contact. “Perhaps.”

Eugene clenches his jaw, and says nothing. After a long moment of silent staring, Adira sighs. “Look,” she says. “I know you lot are suspicious, especially after what just happened. I understand that. But I have food, information, and I know this place like the back of my hand. Do you really think you can afford to refuse my help?”

“No,” Cassandra agrees, before Eugene can speak. Her eyes are cold, suspicious. “But that doesn’t mean we have to trust you.”

“Tell us what we’re up against,” Eugene blurts out, before Adira can reply. Her mismatched face turns to him, dark eyes appraising. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. “Tell us who this ‘she’ is, and we’ll go with you, no fuss.” He draws himself to his full height to match her, staring her down. “As a show of good faith.”

Adira purses her lips, then shakes her head, her asymmetric earrings jangling at the movement. The fight bleeds out of her stance, and her shoulders slump. “Fine,” she says. Her mouth twists as if remembering something painful, and her dark eyes are grave. “Fine. First of all.  _She_ has many names, and many faces. She’s a shape-shifter, of a kind, at least according to legends. She has more power than you and I could even dream of, and she is human enough to think and inhumane enough not to care.”

Ice runs down Eugene's spine. “What does that even…?”

“She has many names,” Adira repeats. She draws herself tall, hands still linked behind her back. Her eyes rest heavy on the mountain and the tower behind them. “But you’d know her best as the Moon.”

-

Varian wakes up to the sound of crying.

He wakes slowly, stuck in a feverish haze, eyes sticking and head clouded from a mix of ill dreams and poor sleep. At first, he isn’t sure what it is he’s hearing. He is still half-asleep, mind fogged with exhaustion. Even in this enclosed cave, the sound is faint, muffled to his one working ear. It is only when he hears a harsh hitch in breathing and a muted keen that Varian realizes what is happening.

He wakes up very quickly, after that. The sound of someone weeping, and yet, there is only one other person here, which means— Rapunzel.

Rapunzel is… Rapunzel is crying. 

In the pale blue glow, she is hunched over in the far corner, one hand tight over her mouth, the other covering her head. Her fingers bunch in her loose hair, tangling in the strands and tugging harshly at the roots. She cries quietly, muffling her cries with one hand as if she is trying to hide. She shakes like a leaf, but if not for the small noises she makes—muffled screams and strangled sobs bitten back by sheer force of will—Varian wouldn’t have known she was crying at all.

There is something awful and wretched about her, in this instant, in her bowed back and cheeks shining with tears. Her hands curl into tight and tortured fists in a vain attempt to hold herself together. Her breaths hitch and rasp, her sniffling quieted by her palm. She cries a bit like she’s forgotten how to do it properly, in fits and bursts, shaking herself to pieces.

All the while, silent. Horribly silent, in that hopeless way people cry when they know no one who can hear them will help.

Varian stares at her, eyes wide and jaw slack, feeling a little bit like he’s been gutted. His heart drops, his breath catches. Rapunzel is crying, and Varian… Varian doesn’t know what to do. There is no one else here but him, no one else to turn to, to look to, and he can’t…

Her tears unsettle him, unnerve him, dig a hollow pit in his gut. Rapunzel is _crying._ Varian hasn’t—he has never heard her cry before. Not like this. She has always been angry, or determined, or hurt, but never… never this. She has never cried, never given up, never… broken.

It is not as satisfying as he once thought it would be.

The small walls and low roof create the illusion of the room growing ever smaller. The dim glow is better than the dark, but it is simply not enough. It has been ages since when they first trapped—days, Varian is certain—and the air is stifled and growing thin, their oxygen running out. Her crying doesn’t help matters, Varian tells himself. This is why he twists up onto his feet to see her better, this is why he approaches.

He knows, in his heart, that he is lying. He steps forward because Rapunzel is crying, and somehow, just that scares him more than even the idea of running out of air.

Rapunzel is cheerful, obnoxious, optimistic and heartfelt. He hates it, of course, hates her pretend care and false worry, and yet… the sudden loss of that faith and hope she seemed to have eternal shakes him to his core. He doesn’t like it. It isn’t _right._

“R-Rapunzel…?”

She doesn’t reply, only nestles tighter against the wall. Her hand pulls her hair around herself, shielding her face, the long strands falling around her like a blanket. Her breath wavers and then catches, and she turns her face away as if this slight break of composure is shameful.

Varian bites at his lip nervously, daring to step a little closer. Some part of him—some part of him wants to laugh, maybe, or mock her, but when he opens his mouth he can’t force the words through.

He hates her, he _does_ , he hates her so much… but for some reason he just can’t do it.

The faint far-off memory of a dream rises up. The words whisper in his ears, an echo of a different realm, a different world.

_I’m sorry I failed you._

He swallows back the hateful words and tries something else instead.

“Rapunzel. Why… why are you crying?”

At this Rapunzel shudders, and her head lifts up, her eyes glaring out at him. She looks—tired, wretched, _wrecked._ “Oh,” Rapunzel says, voice thin and strangled, “why do you care?”

Varian falters at the deadness in her voice, but then he bites the inside of his cheek and leans forward anyway. There is no one else here but him, and… he doesn’t like that she’s crying. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t _care,_ but he… he doesn’t like it. If there’s any way he can get her to stop…

He deliberates, then leans closer, trying to look past her curtain of hair to see her face. “What’s wrong?” Varian pushes, stubborn to a fault.

Rapunzel sucks in a sharp breath. Her head rises a bit higher. “W-what?” she croaks.

Varian hesitates again, but she doesn’t sound… well, more upset, so he figures he’s doing okay. She still looks dreadful, but at least she isn’t making those awful crying noises anymore. “What’s wrong? _”_

 _“_ What’s _wrong?”_ Rapunzel repeats, her hand falling. Her voice is trembling, rising. “What’s—you—how could you—” She stops abruptly, trembling head to toe, biting down hard on her lip and sniffling. Another few tears bead in her eyes and roll down her cheeks, red from the outburst. She drops her head back down in her arms, both hands lifting to tangle in her hair. 

“Go away,” Rapunzel says at last, her voice small and terrifyingly young. “Go away, Varian, please go away, please leave me alone…”

“You’re _crying,_ ” Varian says, a bit helplessly, and all at once Rapunzel starts to laugh. It’s an awful sound, that laugh, wet and choked and bitter all the way through. She curls up in the corner, fingers tight in her hair, making herself as small as she can.

“Oh,” she says, the words muffled in her arms. Her voice is hoarse and breathy, every few words hiccupping on a strangled sob. “Oh, _damn_ you, Varian, you know exactly what’s wrong.”

“I—” Varian starts, drawing back at this accusation. He tries not to yell, to get angry, if only because he has a nagging fear that this will only make her cry more. “I _don’t,_ that’s why I’m asking—”

Rapunzel’s head snaps up. Her hair flies out, scattering at the motion; her arms drag through the strands and then release them to lock around her arms, a makeshift hug. She leans against the stone wall as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright, the glow of the wall wavering at her back. Her expression is dreadful, drawn and wrecked, her bright eyes swollen and red-rimmed.

“We’re going to die here!” Rapunzel cries, her voice wavering like a flame, her pitch low and then shrill. “That’s what you’ve said, over and over, and you—you—”

Her words crack, break off under a new wave of tears. Rapunzel shakes on a sob, one hand lifting to wipe at her face, her palm digging into the hollow of her eye. “I call for help and you throw things at me, I ask _you_ for help and you snap at me, but t-the moment _I_ cry, the moment _I_ lose hope it’s all ‘What’s wrong, Rapunzel, why are you crying, Rapunzel, it’s not like you’re trapped in a room with no windows or doors with a boy who _hates you!'"_

Varian pulls back, stung by her sudden venom. “I’m trying to be _nice—”_

“Why!” Rapunzel snaps. She’s still crying, but she barely seems to notice it anymore, not even bothering to brush away the rising tears. Her expression twists, brows knotted, her teeth grit in a snarl. Despite this her voice shudders, angry words made almost a plea. “Why, why would you do that to me? Why is it you’re _nice_ now, Varian?! Why, why say or do those awful things and then turn around and, and—”

She trails off, crying openly now, chest heaving with stifled sobs. Rapunzel presses the back of her hand against her lips and bows her head, rocking again, almost keening.

Varian stumbles away from her, feeling a bit as if she has slapped him. The implications of her words do not miss him, and his gut twists. She is crying because of him, because of what he’s said and done, and something in that makes him feel light-headed. “Well, sorry for trying, then, Princess! Sorry for asking!”

Rapunzel is shaking, her shoulders trembling badly. Her hair scatters, slipping away from her face and off her collar at the motion, the pale gold strands limp and messy. When she finally raises her head, a few strands stick to her wet cheeks. 

 “I don’t get you!” Rapunzel cries at last. Her eyes are wild, near-blind from tears. Her gaze stares out at nothing. She isn’t looking at him, but somehow her words strike home regardless. “I’ve been trying, I’ve been trying so hard, but I can’t—”

“Trying!” Varian repeats, angry now. He straightens, slashing his hand through the air. “Trying to do _what,_ Princess?! Redeem me? Forgive me? I don’t _need_ forgiving! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Even after all this!” Rapunzel shouts, abruptly cutting him off.  She doesn’t seem to be listening anymore. “Even after everything! I’ve—I’ve tried, I’ve tried so hard to get it, to see g-good in you, but I—I just can’t! I can’t do it anymore! You don’t make sense!”

Varian gapes at her, momentarily struck speechless. “You—you can’t—” The rage returns, as familiar as the sunrise. “F- _fuck_ you! How could you—I’m not wrong! It’s not my fault. _I’m_ not the real bad guy here!”

Rapunzel starts laughing, but it breaks easily, turns ragged with tears. She slumps against the stone wall, hands falling loose and open by her side, heels digging up the dirt. This time, her dull green eyes stare up at him directly, meet his gaze and don’t flinch away. “What, you’re not? Is that it? So all that—y-you, kidnaping my mother, you nearly killing Cass, all those guards, all those innocent people and—and when you tried to kill _me,_ what, were those all the actions of a _hero_? Did your village thank you, Varian? Were you even thinking of them at that point? Do you know how they’re doing now?”

“That’s—” Varian starts, stuttering, mind going blank. He doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen the old inhabitants of Old Corona since they left for the new village plot, but then… why should he? The traitors, they had left him and Dad behind, they had turned him away when he needed them most, they had called him dangerous and stupid and deranged— “That doesn’t matter!”

 “You’re not even sorry for it!” Rapunzel shouts suddenly. Her voice is rising, pitched high with hysteria and a growing fury. “All this time, all those months, and you haven’t even said—you don’t even _regret_ it!”

This answer, at last, comes easily to him. “Why should I!?” Varian cries, hands curling into fists. His head pounds, vision spinning. “They turned their backs on me! They betrayed me! All of Corona—”

“ _All_ of Corona?” Rapunzel snaps, and something strange enters her voice, something dark and furious and a little malicious. “What, did every single man, woman, child, and person come up and spit in your face, Varian? Every _single_ person?”

“Yes! No!”

“That’s not an answer! Tell me!”

“Shut up!” Varian shouts. He shivers from something other than cold, stepping back, retreating away from her. “Stop talking, just stop—”

But for once, Rapunzel doesn’t stop. She climbs up to her feet, marching closer to match him. One hand curls into a fist, the other presses hard against the black stone, light sparking out from beneath her palm. He can see her eyes, wide and wild, dark with pain. He can see her gasping breaths and curled fingers. She is still crying, but whatever grief plagued her has now turned to a cold fury.

“God,” Rapunzel snarls, voice cracking. She looks like she hates him.“You, you’re such a _brat!_ Do you know that? You are!”

“I’m not a kid!”

“Of course you are!” Rapunzel snaps at him. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t flinch away from him. In her anger she is suddenly and terrifyingly bold. “You’re so very _childish,_ Varian! Nothing is ever, ever enough for you. You lash out, you blame others, you _refuse_ to ever listen, you hurt the people who don’t deserve it—”

“They deserved it!” Varian cries back. He feels flayed by her accusation, almost pushed to tears himself. Except these words aren’t right, they don’t _fit,_ and what he really means is—what he’s always meant is— “ _You_ deserved it!”

Rapunzel rocks at those words, falling back against the wall to stay upright. Another tear trails down her cheek. “There it is,” she says dully, barely above a whisper. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it.”

He flushes in anger, unnerved by her abrupt shift in mood, leaning away from her. “If you think you can— _apologize_ again, if you think I’m going to believe you actually mean it, that you care, then _guess what_! I won’t! I know better!”

“No, I’m not going to do that, Varian,” Rapunzel says, her voice growing cold. She glares out at him, any goodwill she had left fading from her face. “I am— I am so, so _sick_ of apologizing to you. I mean it. Do you get that? Because I am _sorry_ , Varian, okay?” Her voice breaks. “I am so sorry for breaking my promise to you then, for leaving you behind, for—everything!”

“I told you, I don’t—!”

Rapunzel cuts him off. She’s begun to ramble, hands waving uselessly in the air between them. “And g-god, I’ve, I’ve been saying sorry over and over and  _over,_ and I’m—I’m done, Varian. I’ve said all I can, I’ve done everything I could, and you—it’s not enough for you. What’s enough for you? What do you even _want!_?”

“Shut up!”

“Do you want me dead?” Rapunzel demands, voice rising. “Is that what you want? Is, is that the only thing that’ll matter to you? Is that what you want from me?”

“Shut _up!”_

Rapunzel gives a bitter laugh and shakes her head. She waves her hand through the air as if to dismiss him entirely. _“_ Oh, no, that’s right! That can’t be it, because you saved me, didn’t you? Me, and Eugene, and Cass… all of us! From dying! So no, it can’t be that.” Her hand falls limp to her side. “Go on, Varian. Tell me what you want. You always wanted us to listen to you, right?”

Varian stares at her, caught off-guard by the wildness in her voice, the rage in her drawn and tear-stained face. His throat locks up. He can’t think of anything to say, doesn’t know if he could even if he had the words.

As the silence stretches, Rapunzel’s face grows darker. “Say something!” she barks suddenly, lurching forward, and Varian jumps in his haste to scramble back. His foot slips on the ground and he stumbles, sitting down hard on the dirt, back knocking the black stone wall. “Go _on,_ Varian, I’m _listening_! Say it!”

The words finally come. “I want you to know the pain I felt—”

“Pain!” Rapunzel snaps, cutting him off. “What kind of _pain_?”

“Losing someone! Being betrayed!” At last, he regains himself, his train of thought. He lifts his head and glares up at her. “That’s what I _want_ , Princess. I want you to—”

Rapunzel doesn’t let him finish. “Oh,” she says, quiet. Then her voice rises, snapping out like a whip. “Oh, shut up. Shut _up,_ Varian!”

His mouth snaps shut. He stares at her.

Rapunzel is breathing heavily. “ _Pain?”_ she whispers, the word incredulous. “W-what, you think I—you think I don’t know that pain?”

Varian fights to regain his composure. He may be shaken by her fury, but of this, he is absolutely certain. “You don’t!”

“Are you joking? _”_ Rapunzel shouts. Her hands splay out, clench into fists, fall back to hover stiff and still by her sides _. “_ I, I don’t—I don’t? How could you even… god, Varian, I spent eighteen years of my life _locked in a tower!”_

The cave goes silent. Varian can’t speak. For a moment, neither can Rapunzel. She stands tall, hands clenched, breathing heavy. Her shoulders are shaking. Her hair is tangled and stringy, falling in clumps around her small form. She’s crying again, worse than before, except this time she makes no move to stop it.

“Eighteen years, Varian,” Rapunzel breathes, old hurt twisting at her ruined voice. “A-and I spent all those years living with a woman who I called _Mother,_ who I _loved,_ and the whole time she o-only loved me for my _hair_.” Her voice breaks on the word, cracks in two, and Rapunzel just barely doesn’t sob. “And, and the _moment_ I broke away from her, the moment I learned the truth, _she put me in chains, Varian._ She gagged me and chained me, and when Eugene came to help me, she killed him right in front of me.”

Varian stares at her, struck into silence. He’d known, of course, the way the whole kingdom had, the story of the lost princess. But it has never occurred to him to think of it like this. Eighteen years, and then—

“I don’t know _pain,_ Varian?” Rapunzel whispers, and she shudders, rocking back on her heels, hands fluttering about her face as if she doesn’t know what to do with them. Another tear trails down her cheek. “She’s dead! She’s dead, it was my fault!”

These words strike him hard, in a way the rest of her story could not. Varian pulls away. He feels suddenly unsettled, a bit as if he’s been stabbed—the words resound in his ears, a mockery of a truth he has never let himself hear, echoing over and over in his head. “N-no—”

But Rapunzel isn’t listening to him, she isn’t hearing him. She is still speaking, still crying, no longer shouting, but _this—_ this is almost worse, because her voice is breaking and so is her heart and she is still _crying,_ and—and there is something so horribly familiar about it, something so awful, and it shakes him to his core.

Something about her reminds Varian of himself.

He has no time to process that revelation, no time to understand or even try to deny it, because Rapunzel is _still talking,_ and something about her words makes Varian helpless to do anything but listen. Maybe it is the horror of it, the nightmarish scenario she paints, a girl locked in a tower and a mother who cares nothing for her or her happiness. Maybe it is the heartbreak in Rapunzel’s voice, a heartbreak Varian knows too well, as she says, “And, and when she was falling out of that tower…”

“Stop,” Varian whispers, but she doesn’t. She isn’t even hearing him.

“Even after—after everything,” Rapunzel says, near rambling, near ranting, as if she herself has no hold on what’s she saying or how to stop. “I— I reached for her! I wanted to save her!” Her words strangle off, break on a suppressed sob. “She was the worst person I knew, I hated her, I _hate_ her! I hate her so much! But I still loved her even then, and I hate that too! I, I still _miss her_ sometimes! I miss her, Varian! Her!”

Rapunzel wipes at her eyes and stifles a sob in her hand. Her palm wraps tight around her mouth, and her fingernails dig viciously into her tear-stained cheeks. She rocks back on her heels like a lonely child might rock themselves to sleep. “How dare you,” she whispers, her words made soft by the barrier. “Where do you get off, saying I don’t know pain? This—this past year is the first time I’ve ever known true  _happiness!”_

She drags her hand down her face, and laughs, or maybe cries. Her words are withering, going quiet again, that strange intensity at last fading from her face. “Betrayal?” Rapunzel mumbles, almost to herself. “Loss? How—h-how can you say I don’t know… I know it. Of course I know it. How _could_  you?”

Her eyes turn to him, teary and wild, demanding an answer that Varian doesn’t have. He stares up at her, feeling tongue-tied, his stomach tangled into knots. He can’t breathe right, he can’t speak, his thoughts torn loose and made nonsense under the crushing wave, a horrible realization, a quiet whisper of _I did this,_ and _she’s hurting,_ and worst of all—

_She is just like me._

Just like Varian, but _better,_ somehow, why, why is she better? Why is she happy, why is she not like him, why doesn’t she understand, then, if she knows what it is he knows? _Dead, my fault..._ Except no, it’s not, it can’t be his fault—

“I—” Varian whispers, tripping over his words, unable to gather his thoughts. “I, I don’t—”

He doesn’t know what to say; he never gets the chance to finish. All the words he might have or could have said wither away on his tongue.

Light bursts out into their cave.

It is so sudden and shocking, so bright to his dark-adjusted eyes, that for a second the glare blinds him. But is not _that_ bright, and Varian adjusts quickly, blinking the spots from his eyes as he whirls towards the source of that unnatural shine.

It is the wall, he realizes. The whole wall of one side of their cage, glowing an intense white-and-blue that Rapunzel’s own dim glow cannot hope to match. It is as intense and as bright as the rocks used to shine when Rapunzel drew near them.

Blue light, sharp and intense, flares across the stone. It is a straight slash of burning blue, cutting a line across the rock. At the end of it, a thin blade juts out, shining brighter than even the wall.

The rock has been cut. The black rocks, immobile, unbreakable, invincible— _cut._

Rapunzel stumbles, wincing at the light, her emotion falling flat in shock. The burning glow shines on her wet cheeks, catches in her eyes and her hair. She shakes her head as if trying to wake from a dream.

“What… what is that?”

As they watch, another slash cuts down horizontally, bisecting the first line. Through the broken line, Varian can see the glowing blade of what might be a sword again, a black rock made thin and sharp, slicing through its fellows easily.

“A way out,” Varian whispers, numb with shock.

Something lights in Rapunzel’s face, a hope and joy so bright it almost chases the shadows of their conversation from her expression. She scrubs at her face, wiping at her eyes with the tips of her fingers, fighting to regain control over herself. Through her hands Varian can see her smile, small and trembling, weak with relief.

“Cass—” Rapunzel says, stumbling over the words, lips trembling from emotion. Her smile is widening, growing brighter with every second as the sight sinks in. “And, and Eugene, it must be—”

Despite everything, Varian’s heart lifts to match hers. She had been—she had been _right,_ after all, they really had been a way out. They aren’t going to die here, they aren’t trapped, they can get out. And even better—the rocks, the rocks can be cut, a way to _break_ the rocks—it is the sort of answer he could only dream of, the sort of solution that at long last lifts his heart in hope. They’re _free—_

All at once, Varian’s blood runs cold.

He stares at the glowing wall, smile faltering. Something about it all strikes him the wrong way. Something is off. He stares at the wall, the blade cutting down, the doorway it is carving into the stone. He stares at it until his eyes water, and then all at once the realization snaps into place. Ice claws down his spine.

“Wait,” Varian says.

Rapunzel has run up to the wall. She ignores him entirely, reaching out for the glowing stone, eyes shining bright in the intense white glow. Her hand hovers over the rock, fingers fluttering in excitement. “Eugene? Cass? We’re here! We’re right here! Can you hear—?”

Varian staggers to his feet, lurching forward despite his injured leg, grabbing wildly at her arm. “Rapunzel, _wait!”_

She wrenches her arm from his grasp. The motion is sharp, almost instinctive, and she freezes immediately after, goes stone-cold. For a moment Varian fears she will ignore him. But something in his voice must give her pause, and she glances at him reluctantly, from the corner of her eye.

Another cut, horizontal, finishing the door.

Varian says, “ _That’s the wrong side._ ”

Rapunzel stares at him. Then the color drains from her face.

The rocks are breaking open, clattering in pieces to the dirt. The door has been finished, the exit made—but it is not leading to the outside. There is no possible way.

When they had been trapped, the rocks had penned them in against the mountain face. It is that mountain they are pinned against, that same mountain wall that has just been broken open. There is no way Eugene and Cassandra could have come from there.

This is not a rescue after all, Varian realizes. This is something so much worse.

Rapunzel does not hesitate. She grabs Varian’s arm and drags him behind her, pushing him back into the corner. Varian startles at the motion, protest rising up and then stifled just as quick. Rapunzel has stepped in front of him. Her body obscures his view, a human shield, one arm outstretched as if to try and hide as much of him as she can. Her feet are braced, her back straight.

She is protecting him, Varian realizes, and the thought makes his head spin. 

Through the gap between her arm and side, he can see the last of the rocks clatter to the ground. The door is open, their prison destroyed. Clean and icy air blows in, burning his lungs but tasting sweet after two days of slow suffocation. The false wind almost seems to whistle as it blows through.

In the pale blue-and-white glow of the stone, their intruder is only a dim silhouette, a shadowy outline.

There is no time to react. Already the silhouette is rising from a crouch, stretching up impossibly tall. In the glow, the stranger’s outline is angled and sharp, as jagged as the black rocks. There is something stiff and false about the motion, the strange scrape-screech of stone against stone as the figure rises. In that shadowed face, two inhumane electric eyes burn like a miniature flame.

With no more obstacles to impede the path, the intruder enters the cave.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Game start!
> 
> I’ll admit I’m a little nervous about this one… it's sort of a big shift? But like, Varian’s been snapping at everyone for... six chapters. It’s only fair Rapunzel gets her turn, too. Also, we finally (officially) learn the identity of the creature— Moon!!! God, I’m so excited to write her, guys, this is gonna be _great_. Also, Adira finally showed up-- gotta wonder, did any of you see that coming...?
> 
> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, just cause, like… this is pretty much set up as a hopeless situation, and that’s something we haven’t really seen the main group face? Before, there was always something they could do. Now, they can’t. I struggled a bit on how Cass and Eugene would react. But, well— after everything that has happened? All they’ve been through? Getting separated from Raps, being thrown into a situation like this…. I think it’d just be too much. What can they do? Nothing. And sometimes that is the absolute worst thing in the world, to have to sit back and watch as the bad things happen to the people you care most about. So…yeah.
> 
> I’ve been so excited to get that final scene, though, like— because ignoring the hurt of being betrayed, and the like, a main issue Varian has with Rapunzel is kind of… well, jealousy? Varian, I think, really is jealous of Rapunzel. To his mind, she has a perfect family, and a perfect life. People adore her constantly, _everyone_ loves Rapunzel…. But Rapunzel has only had that life for one year. One year, and for the rest of it… well. Plus, while a lot of people adore Rapunzel, the one person she probably wishes _had_ cared about her MORE just…. didn’t. And now is dead. And I think Rapunzel would blame herself for that. (Even though she really shouldn’t. Gothel is terrible.)
> 
> There’s a line of Varian’s from SotS… “It’s not enough. It’s not enough until you’ve felt the same pain and agony as I have.” But that’s the real awful irony of this whole situation— in her own way, Rapunzel _has._ Varian and Rapunzel have a lot of parallels, and I think realizing that is… kinda important. For Rapunzel, in a way, but mostly for Varian— because he’s right to be angry with her, but some of the things he blames Rapunzel for are really not her fault in the slightest. (And really, all things considered? I for one would not be jealous of Rapunzel at all. That girl has had a really awful life before this point.) Anyway, that line really bothered me at the time, and I think it would kind of bother Rapunzel too.
> 
> Also, regarding updates…. This is the last regular update I can guarantee. I’m going back to school in a few weeks, so that’ll be taking up a lot of time. I can promise one more update for August!!! But uh, after that, I think I’ll be updating once a month at best. Sorry guys… ❤️
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/176860151407/title-labyrinths-of-the-heart-synopsis-plagued) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


	7. The Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh, this chapter did not come easily. I have no idea if everything makes sense, but… ahhh, I can’t look at it anymore, ahaha. Take it!! Just take it!! (And oh gosh, I really do hope it all sounds okay….)
> 
> That said, I really appreciate all your support!!! Your comments from last chapter were so kind, and it really pushed me to finish this chapter even with school going on. Thank you so much!! Your support and enthusiasm for this fic has really helped me a lot when the writing gets tough, ahaha.
> 
> Also, a very special thank you to all of the lovely people who have drawn art for this fic!!! I’m still in shock!!! You all are so talented, and it honestly just means the world to me to know you like my story!! You guys can check out their gorgeous works [here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/tagged/amazing-art) Go send them some love!!! Every piece is simply beautiful, I’m gonna cry, oh man. Thank you all so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
>  **Warnings** for blood, graphic description of injury, (somewhat) graphic violence, near-death experiences, (somewhat) graphic descriptions of possible death, mentions of past child abuse (Gothel), and… just general nastiness, high emotions, and brutal verbal arguments. (We’re not out of the woods on that yet, I’m afraid). As always, if there is something you feel I missed, just let me know and I’ll add it on here!!
> 
> Also… come on now. You guys didn’t think I chose this fic title just because it sounded cool, did you? :3c

 

 

_For the first time in his life, Varian is alone._

_He is sitting on a black stone path, cross-legged and bent nearly double under the pressure of an unbearable exhaustion. Heavy chains wrap tight around his wrists and ankles; they weigh him down, drag him to the cold and merciless earth. The dark iron of his shackles blends into the path of dark stone—where the trailing chain leads, where it ends, Varian does not know._

_(The clasps to his chains are unlocked. They have always been unlocked, but Varian does not see this. In this world he can see more than ever before, and yet he is blinder than he has ever been.)_

_Varian is alone, left behind and abandoned at a crossroads, at a choice he doesn’t have the courage to make. There is no-one here except him, nothing else but the fog, and the path, and the chains tight around his wrists._

_Rapunzel is gone. She has vanished into the mist, she has decided on her course. Her absence makes the world ring hollow. The loss of her dims the already darkened world, as if in leaving, she has taken the last of the light with her._

Are you afraid?

_Varian startles, his head snapping up at the sound. The voice comes from nowhere in particular, from everywhere at once. It echoes in his head, tugs insistently at his tired mind. At his action, pain abruptly strikes through his skull and then fades almost immediately after. Here, Varian is whole; unscarred and uninjured, and something about that rings false to him._

_“…What?”_

Ah, _says the voice, ignoring him. It sounds curious, near delighted with its find._ So you  **are** afraid. How interesting. Emotions, thoughts… such should not be possible. You are here. Truly here. Why is it that you are still here?

_Varian’s head lifts up, his eyes blindly searching the obfuscating fog. His arms clench tight around him in a makeshift hug, his cold fingers digging into his ragged sleeve. “Who are you?”_

Is it that you too have a choice? Or is it that you simply believe you have a choice? Or… oh, how curious.

_Varian tries to stand, but the chains won’t let him rise. Something like fear pierces through the haze, a sudden strike of reality breaking through the dream. He fights the iron hold of his shackles, yanking desperately at his bindings. “What is this? Who are you!?”_

I have not called you here, I have no more use for you. Yet, here you are. Ah! How curious indeed. 

_Laughter, soft and sweet and pitched high in delight, echoes through the empty air. The laugh is honest, bright and fleeting, but it is almost cruel, too—apathetic and blank, an uncaring amusement. The laughter of a child as they squash ants beneath their thumb merely for the fun of it._

Very well then, _says the voice._ I shall humor you. You wish to play? Then we shall play.

_“What—”_

I do so **_love_** a good game. 

_In this makeshift realm, something shatters. Beneath Varian’s bare feet the path breaks cleanly in two, the world cracking open like an egg. The soft gray-blue fog, the one constant in this dream since the moment he entered it, pulls back like an ocean wave. It rises up above his head, shadowing the sky. The land it reveals is cold and barren, a dead world in everything but name. A lifeless earth, devoid of all things but for the black stone path. And in the distance, at the edge of the fog—a shadow._

_No. Not a shadow. A woman?_

_Varian has no time to truly see her, to recognize her beyond a brief moment of focus. The fog rises up, and the woman smiles—wide, too wide, a smile unlike anything he has ever seen—and then the fog crashes over him, drowns him, drags him under without release, and Varian is going to die here, in this dream, he is going to **die** —_

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

_Varian is standing in an empty hallway._

_It stretches on forever, no end and no beginning. The towering walls shine and shimmer like stars—bright and gleaming, blinding to his eyes. On his wrists, the chains weigh heavy, clearly visible in the glow of this bright room. The trailing lead of wrought iron is stark and black against the crystal white floors. It sprawls down the hall, leading into the distance._

_A phantom fear pulls at Varian’s heart and mind, his breaths sharp and wheezing, quickened from panic. Yet, Varian cannot recall why he should be afraid. Each time he tries to remember, it slips from his grasping fingers like he is trying to catch water rather than memories._

_Water. This rings a bell. Water, a wave… Fog? Drowning. And yet, that is ridiculous. Varian is standing in a long hallway. There is no water here. No fog. He is not drowning._

_His panic slips away, and so does whatever memory he might have unearthed. Varian shakes his head, chasing the last lingering echoes away, and steps forward into the light._

_The hallway gleams like gemstones, and the light brightens at his approach. A thousand images reflect back at him, shapeless and strange. These are not walls, Varian realizes suddenly—these are mirrors._

_Yet, in those shining silvery walls, Varian cannot find his own reflection. Instead he sees places, things, objects. A small room, paintings on a cobblestone wall. Flowers in a sill, lights brighter than even the stars, rising into the sky. A small hand reaching for the window, as the shutters close and lock the outside world away…_

_The images entrance him, the bright colors and flashes enticing him onwards. Varian steps deeper into the mirror hall, looking around ahead of him. The window, shutters open, flowers dancing in a breeze. Storybooks so worn and loved they are nearly in tatters. A hairbrush and stool, set aside, waiting…_

_Curiosity pricks through the haze. Something pulls at him—his heart, his mind, the chains on his skinny wrists. A whisper, formless and familiar, a young voice laughing in his ears._

_Varian looks beside him._

_Rapunzel, wide-eyed and golden-haired, his shock reflected on her face— stares back._

_Varian wrenches away from the wall, and the Rapunzel in the mirror stumbles back, her every motion an echo to his. A scream catches in his throat, and he backs away until abruptly his foot slips on the cold smooth floors._

_Varian drops, unable to catch himself. His back slams against the far side of the wall, crashing against the mirrors—glass breaks, the mirrors shattering around his head, clinking like wind-chimes and murmuring like ghosts._

“Mother, I want to see—”

_Wind howls in his ears, snatching away the whispered plea before Varian can hear the end of it. He falls hard against an unforgiving floor, chains rattling furiously, hands flat against cold stone._

_Varian’s eyes snap open._

_The hallway and its mirrors are gone; he is no longer there. The world has changed. Now, instead of a glass hall, Varian lies in a small, darkened room. Broken weapons and discarded machines litter the dirty floor. The shelves, all crowded against the walls, are piled high with loose paper and glass beakers of colorful liquids. In the corner, a small window, its once-clear panes darkened with dust. In the center… an amber statue._

_Varian knows this place. He knows it better than the back of his own hand. This is his lab; this is Old Corona._

_Varian climbs unsteadily to his feet, a lump in his throat. He can hardly breathe, terrified of disturbing this empty place, this home he once knew so well, this home that now seems cold and alien to him. He steps closer to the amber, uncertain, terrified to his core. What will he see in this reflection? Rapunzel? Or himself?_

_In the shining rock, his own face stares back, blue eyes wide with fear._

_On his wrists, the chains clink and jangle. The lead of the dark chain falls to the ground, coiling at his feet. Halfway across the chain, iron gives way to amber. His father’s amber trap, the weight and chain Varian cannot let go of—they are one and the same._

_“This is it, isn’t it? This is where it all started. This is where it ended.”_

_Varian jumps, eyes snapping back to his father’s unbreakable cage. In the amber, his reflection smiles._

_“Your mistake,” says the reflection. Its eyes are bright and blue. Its smile stretches wide. “And your fall.”_

_“No,” Varian whispers. The oddity of this interaction never occurs to him, any confusion buried at the reflection’s accusation. He steps back, ice gripping at his heart. “No, that’s not true. It wasn’t my mistake. It was theirs! Their fault!”_

_The smile goes wide, sharp with a mocking sort of pity. “Oh?”_

_“It’s not my fault,” Varian snaps, his voice shaking, furious at this betrayal from one who bears his likeness. He strides up close to the amber, glaring into his own eyes. “It’s never been my fault!”_

_“Then whose fault is it?” asks his reflection. Its head is tilted like a bird’s, its expression blank and curious._

_Rapunzel, Varian thinks. Rapunzel, Cassandra, Eugene, the King, the Queen, all of Corona. **Rapunzel.** He can’t say any of it._

_“That’s the trouble with talking to yourself,” the reflection says. Its voice is soft, its smile unfaltering. “You can’t lie. Oh, you can certainly try, but it never really works, does it?” It leans closer, eyes blown wide, smile as sharp as any blade. “Some part of you,” it says, “some part of you always knows the truth. Some little part, some tiny voice in the back of your mind, asking, Are you sure? Are you **sure**?” _

_His reflection leans back. Blue eyes cold and flinty. Smile gone hard and unforgiving. The words it speaks are poisonous, bitter with old hurt and old knowing. “Well, Varian? Are you sure?”_

_“It can’t be my fault,” Varian whispers. He has nothing else to say. No other defense to give but this._

_“Of course it can,” the reflection says. “After all—that’s how this works, isn’t it? A tower, a girl, a monster… this lab, a child, and me. No one ever deserves it, but it happens regardless. This is how the story goes. The truth always catches up to you.”_

_Varian steps away, and his reflection steps forward—right out from the amber, slipping free from the mirror. They stand face-to-face, mirrors of each other, one cringing away, the other standing tall and proud._

_It is Varian—his smile, his eyes, his own confident posture and firm stance, chin tilted up in defiance, shoulders back and hands planted on his waist. It is him. But there is a wide smile stretching its cheeks, and a light in its eyes that Varian has never before seen in his own face, not even in a mirror._

_“Who else could possibly be at fault,” says the reflection, “if not you?”_

-

The second the intruder enters the cave, Rapunzel makes her move.

She doesn’t wait for the intruder to react, doesn’t dare to. A single moment of hesitation and she could lose whatever advantage she has. The newcomer has already entered the cave, has them backed against the wall, and she cannot afford to cede any more ground.

Rapunzel drags her fingers through her long and heavy hair, twisting her hand in the thick strands. With one smooth motion, Rapunzel slings the makeshift whip across the room, her hair wrapping length-wise around the intruder. She tugs the restraint tight, pinning those misshapen arms by the intruder’s side and dragging them forward—

Sharp pain spikes through her skull.

At the same time, Rapunzel’s hair bursts into light, a dull golden glow pulsing furiously along the strands. In this new radiance, the intruder’s shadowed face is revealed in full.

Or rather, Rapunzel realizes, horror climbing up her throat at the sight, the intruder’s _lack_ of face.

Their assailant is not the creature from the mountain, as Rapunzel feared. No—this is something so much worse.

It is a puppet-like being twice Rapunzel's height, a faceless doll made of stone. Black stone—the black rocks, to be precise, as if someone had torn them and shaped them into some false facsimile of a human being. It has sharp and jagged limbs, and some vague approximation of a face, devoid of all humanoid features but for two glowing pinpricks of bright blue light to serve as its eyes. What Rapunzel had assumed to be sword, the blade that had cut through the rocks, is in actuality the puppet’s arm, a long rock sharpened to a fine and double-edged point. Its other arm has a strange claw-like hand, rocks overlapping to form deadly fingers. When its fist flexes, the pointed tips of the rock jut out like knuckles. It is a puppet, an unshapely creature, a false and hollow being—a golem.

It is a creature made of the black rocks, held together by some strange magic Rapunzel can only guess at. Yet, the bright blue glow of its eyes, the same glow as the black rocks… It tells her all she needs to know.

_Hello, dear Sundrop._

The creature in the reflection, that smiling figure… it has made its move.

Rapunzel has barely a moment to absorb the sight, to begin to piece together the puzzle, before the pain in her skull spikes into something blinding. Rapunzel cries out, hands rising to her temples, her teeth grit against the searing ache. It is an intense pain she has felt only once before, months ago, when Varian tried to use her hair against Quirin’s amber prison in Old Corona. The force of it sends her stumbling, and she drops down to one knee, her grip on her hair falling slack. Without her hold, the gold strands loosen and then pool uselessly to the ground.

Rapunzel realizes what has happened a second too late to stop it.

 “No!”

She lunges for her rope of hair, but she isn’t fast enough. Her hair falls slack against the dirt, and the golem steps forward, its path unbarred. Where Rapunzel is bowed in pain, the golem is unaffected. Another screech sounds out as it moves closer, a terrible scrape of rock grinding against rock. Its arm is slowly rising, cross-hatched sword shining white. It moves with aching slowness to their corner—

Pale hands wrap around her bicep, yanking ineffectively at her arm. “Get _up_ ,” a voice is shouting, right in her ear, “get up, get up! We have to run!”

Dazed and confused, Rapunzel tries to stand.

The voice—Varian, she realizes suddenly, and with that understanding the rest of her reality snaps back into place—goes quiet. In the clash of white and gold light, Varian’s face is deathly pale, his eyes huge. He yanks at her arm with a strength that only exists because of fear, and gets her on her feet.

His terror startles her, shocks her back into reality. Rapunzel reaches up to cover Varian’s hand with hers and then pries his fingers from her arm, squeezing his palm tightly in some instinctive gesture. She steadies herself against the cave wall, preparing to run.

They are in the corner, the golem blocking their only feasible exit. The door it created is tiny, just barely enough for the golem itself to fit through. But the creature is large, unwieldy due to its creation, and for Rapunzel and Varian, who are so much smaller—

It is the only chance they have, the only possibility. The golem may have come from inside the mountain, but— it had to come from _somewhere,_ some place, some possible path. Perhaps if they follow the tracks, they might even find a way out…

All of this flashes through her mind in less than a second. It’s their only shot, and so, when the golem looms over them, sword arm rising back, Rapunzel does what she must. She grabs Varian’s arm and drags him forward, and meets the golem head-on.

Varian is too stunned to fight her hold— he follows her without fight as they head towards the blade, and then falls down with her when she ducks under the swing. He practically collapses on both knees to the dirt at the sudden drop, and it must hurt him, for his expression twists and suddenly his eyes are bright again: aware, awake, alert.

“Move!” Rapunzel shouts at him, and this time she doesn’t need to pull him—this time, Varian runs with her.

They duck under the golem’s arm again just as it starts to swing down at their heads. Unbreakable rock piled on unbreakable rock, deadly and invincible. But the golem is also _slow,_ the one flaw in its design.

Rapunzel takes full advantage. She dives under the golem’s arm and drags Varian with her, and they hit the dirt in a roll. On instinct Rapunzel holds Varian close, protecting his head as they tumble; when they slow she jumps to her feet and drags him up with her.

Just like that, the tide of the fight has shifted in their favor. The golem turns, but it is the one in the corner now, Rapunzel and Varian by the door. In any fair fight, they would have the upper hand.

Rapunzel takes Varian’s hand in hers, pivots on her heel, and runs.

For a moment Varian lags, stumbling in surprise, but to Rapunzel’s relief he catches on quickly, trying to match her speed best he can. The adrenaline and fear must dull his pain, because he doesn’t stop nor slow, not even when his limp starts to become noticeable.

Together, they race out of the cave into the unknown.

Immediately, Rapunzel skids to a halt. For a moment of precious time, she is stunned into stillness, the shock and surprise overriding even her common sense.

The details filter in piece by piece, slowly forming a full picture. Dark sloping walls, black rocks angled and overlapping in such a way as to make a narrow path, a long corridor stretching out horizontally from where she stands—left or right, no other way to go but for the designated paths. High stone walls with wide roads and narrow ceilings, the walls sloping in on each other, closing in far above their heads. The whole place is dark and reflective, black rock through and through but for the hard earth beneath their feet.

Rapunzel halts in her tracks, indecision striking through her. Before them, rather than a straight path as she had hoped, there are two paths, two roads, leading off into a darkened distance. It reminds her uncomfortably of the crossroads from her dreams, but this is no dream—this is reality, and she has to choose now, or she won’t have a chance to choose at all.

Still, the sight gives her pause, and it is Varian who snaps out of their shared shock first. “Right!” he shouts, pushing at her shoulder. “We have to go right, hurry!”

A shrill screech makes them drop on instinct, and a shining white blade sweeps over where Varian’s head had been not a second before. If he had hesitated even for an instant longer, then he would have been—

Rapunzel wastes no more time. She goes right, and she drags Varian with her.

Out in the corridor, even the burning blue glow from the makeshift cave door cannot pierce through the cloying gloom. Beside her, Varian’s breath catches, his footsteps slowing as they enter the dark. Just behind them, the slow creak of the golem follows suit. No pain, and no fear. Where they falter, it simply keeps on going.

Rapunzel places her palm on the black stone. Blue light bursts underneath her fingers, and the sight nearly makes her cry in relief. She chances a glance behind her, sees burning blue eyes advancing ever closer, and pushes Varian forward. “Go!”

They run, hardly daring to stop, knowing that if they falter they will die. Rapunzel keeps her hand on the wall the whole time, the faint flickering light all they have to guide them. She looks back only once—sees the golem’s shining blue eyes, same color as the light in the walls, following steadily behind them. It lopes with slow but sure steps after them, like a monster from one of Eugene’s campfire horror stories.  

Her heart jumps in her throat, and Rapunzel faces forward, picking up the pace with a new burst of desperation. _Don’t look back,_ she reminds herself. _Don’t look at it, don’t think of what it will do…_

They have to get away, but she doesn’t even know where they are going. The blue light is weak and unsteady, and she can barely see two feet in front of her—

All at once her reaching fingers knock against stone, sending a burst of pain along her still-sore hands. Rapunzel just barely catches herself from running into it face-first. Her shoulder knocks hard against the stone, and Varian’s elbow digs into her back as he runs into her.

Rapunzel stumbles away, pulling Varian with her on instinct. “W-what—?”

In the pale glow, she can see a wall. No other paths. No other doors. Beneath her bruised and aching palms, the stone is icy cold, unyielding at her touch, barring their way forward.

Rapunzel reels back, inhaling sharply, her lip quivering. Her skin crawls, ice water trickling through her veins, trailing down her back. She feels as if she’s been stabbed through the heart.

“A wall?” Varian whispers from beside her, sounding horrified.  He stumbles closer, reaching out, pale fingers running over the smooth and unbroken surface. His hands are trembling. “No, n-no, it can’t—” He shakes his head, eyes darting about restlessly, uselessly—and then he sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth.

“It’s, it’s blocked off,” Rapunzel mutters, every word a fight to speak. She feels numb, her mind gone slow and stupid with shock and fear. She can sense the slow approach of the golem behind her like the soft whisper of an executioner’s blade at her exposed throat, carrying with it a looming promise of painful death. “We can’t…”

“No,” Varian breathes suddenly, but it isn’t a denial. “Not, not a wall, a—it’s turning, besides us, look, the path is still—”

He glances over his shoulder and goes abruptly white in the face. Rapunzel follows his gaze and stiffens at the sight of the golem, its blue eyes large and luminous in the dark. It is only a few paces behind them.

“Hurry!” Varian cries, and drags to her the side, stumbling on his bad leg. Rapunzel steadies him, and pulls him into the new trail seconds before the golem’s grasping and claw-like fingers close on Varian’s arm.

For a terrible moment, they both stumble—caught in place, about to fall, so close to the golem that Rapunzel can see the cross-hatched pattern on its spires—and then by some miracle they catch their feet, and are off once again.

Rapunzel’s mind is blank with fear, her heart frozen from all the surprises and pitfalls it has taken today. She keeps running. It is all she can do, the only action that makes sense to her panicked mind. She has to keep running, she has to keep moving, there must be a way…

Even in her fright, however, some part of her is patching the pieces together, and the picture they paint makes her heart drop stone-cold in her chest. The strange, straight corridor, too perfect to be an accident… the path, turning sharply at a corner. As if this is a road, a marked and planned path, rather than just some random trail…

Bile rises thin and sour in her abused throat. Rapunzel swallows hard, her throat constricting as if someone has wrapped an icy hand around it and squeezed. There is a monster at their heels and a creature in the walls, and yet she has a terrible and sinking sense that this is not the end of their troubles.

Her suspicion only grows when, not a few seconds later, they hit another wall—a divide, this time, two paths branching off in a Y-shaped split.

“Left,” Varian says, very quiet, and tugs her down the hall before she can panic. His fingers are like iron around her wrist, the swinging chain between his handcuffs knocking against her hand. In the blue glow, his expression is distant and drawn tight with dawning horror.

They turn again, feet skidding on the dirt, and hit a dead end. 

Rapunzel bites her lip hard between her teeth and can’t stop the sob that crawls up her throat. She clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound and rocks back hard on her heels, unshed tears burning behind her eyes. “ _No._ ”

Varian is trembling beside her. “Maybe—maybe we missed—if we, w-we retrace our steps—”

As one they glance behind them. No blue eyes shining out in the darkness, no loping figure or the distant and awful screech of its ill-fitted stone limbs. Just darkness, deep and void, revealing nothing.

Another sob threatens to escape, locking in Rapunzel’s throat. All at once, the picture becomes clear to her.

“It’s a maze,” Rapunzel whispers. She thinks she might be sick. She remembers the creature’s wide smile and bile burns in her throat. The cave, the two days of slow suffocation and starvation, and now this—she can’t, she can’t keep doing this. In this moment she wants nothing more than to lie down and cry until this ordeal is over. “It’s trapped us in a maze with that _thing.”_

Varian is shuddering from head to toe beside her, eyes staring out into the dark. “Maze,” he mumbles, words soft and rasping, distant as if he has withdrawn into himself, no longer all there. “No, it’s underground, like in the stories… not a maze, a trap, a—labyrinth.”

“Labyrinth,” Rapunzel repeats. Even the word sounds callous, tricky and twisting on her tongue. It does not sound like a hopeful word. It doesn’t sound hopeful at all. “Is that any better than a regular maze?”

Varian swallows hard. His face is washed out and pale, his blue eyes blank and distant. “No,” he whispers. His fingers curl unconsciously in her sleeve, as if he is trying to draw comfort in her presence and failing. “I think it’s worse. People… people get out of mazes.”

_They don’t escape labyrinths._

The words are unspoken, and yet, they ring through loud and clear in Varian’s silence. A final nail in the coffin, another damnation heaped upon their heads.

Only a few minutes ago, Rapunzel had shattered. She had wept at their situation, she had lost hope, she had gotten angry. She had broken in a way she has never broken before. And now, she can’t even rest. She has escaped one prison only to be hunted down in another. They are trapped here; they are two prisoners in a stone labyrinth, pursued by an unfeeling puppet, manipulated and tortured by a creature whose name or identity she doesn’t even know.

Her lip trembles, her eyes burn, and the despair is so strong it nearly overtakes her. But Varian’s grip is like iron around her wrist, and his young face is pinched tight with fear, and for some reason this draws her back.

Rapunzel is—Rapunzel is not alone here. She is not in this labyrinth by herself, and that means… that means… It means she can’t break down. Not now. Not yet.

The despair rises up, but Rapunzel bites it back. She pulls in a sharp breath and holds it, her mind whirling. _Think,_ she tells herself sternly. _Think, you stupid girl._ There must be a way out—

Abruptly, a thought strikes her. She grabs at Varian’s shoulder, shaking him. “Varian—labyrinths, they have—a focal point, a center, don’t they?”

Varian shivers, glancing at her uncertainly. His eyes flicker, never quite stilling, darting about with increased frenzy, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “I—I think so—but I don’t…”

“The tower is in the center of the mountain—do you think, maybe?”

Varian stares at her. “But that’s… i-its still _in_ the mountain, how could we...?”

Rapunzel’s mind is lost in the possibilities. “If it has a window…”

Varian grabs at her forearms, snapping her back into the here and now. He is shivering so badly that it makes Rapunzel shake too. “It won’t work! We can’t—we can’t just… It won’t work!"

Rapunzel meets his eyes with difficulty. She presses her lips into a thin line to keep her voice from quavering. “Do you have a better idea?”

Varian goes quiet. He holds her gaze for less than a second, before his eyes dart away again. His shoulders are raised by his ears, tense and taut. “But _how,_ ” he bites out, voice shaking more from fear than anger. “We can’t—”

“Like you said,” Rapunzel replies, her mind whirling. “We—we retrace our steps. We find the right path, that—that Y-shaped intersection! This time… this time, we—we go right, not left.”

If he notices her voice is trembling, then Varian doesn’t pay it any mind. He whirls on her instead, eyes wild, breath caught. “Are you _mad?_ That thing, it’s slow, but— but it’s right behind us, we have to—”

“This is a dead end!” Rapunzel snaps, cutting him off. “We can’t stay here!”

Varian is still talking, near rambling, his words tripping over each other and his pitch fluctuating wildly. “And what if—what if we’ve already picked wrong, from the very start, what if it’s another dead end— What then?!”

“Then we figure it out!” Rapunzel cries, and grabs his shoulders, her fingers pressing hard against his bony collar.

Some part of her still can’t stand to look at him. Some part of her hates him. The memory of their fight feels far away and too close in equal measure. She can still feel the sticky residue of tears on her cheeks, the memory of what she’d said heavy and taut between them.

Those words, that sort of break—Rapunzel has never admitted those fears aloud. She has never put those awful thoughts into words, has never told another living soul about what the tower and Gothel has done to her. Not her parents, not Cassandra… not even Eugene. The fact she has told _Varian_ , of all people, the fact he drove her to that point, the fact he forced her hand—oh, she could hate him for that. Rapunzel might already hate him.

But he is here, with her, no matter her thoughts and feelings on the situation. No Pascal, no Eugene, no Cassandra—Rapunzel is entirely without aid, entirely alone but for his unwilling company. It will have to be enough, for it is all she has, and… Varian was her friend once. Once, a long time ago. Rapunzel has nowhere else to turn; neither does he. There are no other options.

They don’t have a choice.

So Rapunzel grabs Varian’s shoulders and shakes him until he looks at her, until he _really_ looks at her. She waits until his eyes focus, until the pain fades from his expression, and then she grabs his collar in a move reminiscent of Cassandra, and snaps, “We have to go back, we have to keep going, so stop _panicking_ and just—just— _help me!”_

He stares at her, expression shuddering closed. She can’t read his face, cannot understand the look in his eyes. Varian pulls away, and Rapunzel lets him go, hoping she hasn’t made the wrong choice.

“You think we can get out,” Varian says softly.

Rapunzel thinks of a dream. She thinks of two paths, two roads—and the path she had finally chosen, the path she had created, hidden by the fog and blind to her eyes until she had found the courage to take it.

“If there isn’t a way out,” Rapunzel replies, pulling back her shoulders, standing tall— “Then we’ll make one.”

Only a scant ten minutes ago, Rapunzel had broken. She had lost hope, and she had lost herself. She’d fallen so utterly into her anger and despair that she had given up.

But Rapunzel is not in a prison anymore, she is no longer trapped in a cave _or_ a cage. A labyrinth is different from a prison—a labyrinth, cold and tricky it may be, has an end. It has a center. It has possibility, and even that, uncertain though it may be—that is all Rapunzel needs.

Rapunzel refuses to break again.

By her side, Varian stares up at her. His breath escapes him in a quiet sigh. The golem is still out of sight—but it is coming. She knows it is coming. So does he.

If they are ever to escape this place, they must do it together. If they are to fight the labyrinth, they must do it hand in hand.

Varian steps forward. “Okay,” he says finally. His voice is soft, his words unfriendly; there is something uncertain and unwilling in his expression. But he meets her eyes, and he doesn’t look away. “I’ll… I’ll help you.”

Rapunzel doesn’t smile; she hasn’t the strength left for it. They are still trapped. They are lost in a place of twisted corridors, hunted down a monster that will, any minute now, come swinging for their heads. They are not safe. She is not free.

But she has hope, _they_ have hope, and for now, that is enough.

“Good,” Rapunzel says. “Let’s… Let’s figure something out, then, shall we?”

-

Their plan is simple, easy in theory and yet near impossible in practice. If they had more time, perhaps they could have come up with something better… but they don’t, and this is the only plan they have right now, the only plan they can rely on.

Still, Varian cannot help but feel cold. Even if this works, he knows it can’t last. Whatever advantage they gain is doomed to be lost.

They cannot keep running forever.

He doesn’t have a choice though—neither of them do. So what if they will tire? So what if the two days of restless sleep, suffocation, and starvation will soon catch up to them? In the here and now, they have no other options. They have to move, and they have to _keep_ moving, and Varian—Varian will deal with those issues when it becomes necessary.

As if in answer to these thoughts, his vision swims, the world graying out again. His leg burns like someone has shoved a hot poker beneath his skin. His head, the left side in particular, pounds like a relentless drum. His breaths wheeze sharp and painful, chest tight from lack of oxygen.

He steadies himself against the sloping labyrinth walls, and tells himself it’s just the stress.

( _Later,_ Varian promises. _I’ll deal with this later._ He tries not to think about how it is already a problem now.)

Still, despite this, Varian tries to stay alert. It takes all he has to focus on Rapunzel and her wavering form in the flickering blue glow. They are waiting, and it is agonizing, every second like a minute, every minute an hour. Varian is too scared to stare into the dark, so he watches her instead.

He ignores the small voice in the back of his mind that wonders why this is comforting, why _she_ is comforting. It doesn’t matter.

(Back then, when the cave wall broke… she had protected him. Why?

Varian does not know.)

Varian pushes these thoughts away, swallowing down his doubts. Theirs is a simple plan, all things considered, but he still needs to focus in order to pull it off correctly. It is similar to what they had done to escape the golem back in the cave. The golem is slow despite its size, and for all intents and purposes, it moves more like a puppet than an intelligent thinking being. If they are quick enough, and if they time it right…

It sounds nice, put like that. It sounds simple. But they do not know where to go once escaping, they cannot see if Rapunzel stops touching the rocks, and they are both exhausted, weary all the way down to their bones.

It’s not easy. Varian would give absolutely anything to have it be easy.

Beside him, Rapunzel inhales sharply, her whole body going tall and taut, like a thread being pulled tight at both ends. Her hands clench and unclench by her sides, her eyes wide and lips pressed together in a thin line, as if she trying to hold back the urge to scream.

Despite himself, Varian glances up, staring out into the dark void before them. In the darkness, he can see nothing—not even a silhouette—except, far down the hall, if he squints…

Blue light, shiny and unwavering—two unblinking eyes, staring back. Coming closer.

Varian bites down so hard on his lip that it cracks, the dry skin breaking under his stress. He can taste blood, but he barely notices. He sways on the balls of his feet, as if to run, and the touch of cold stone at his back nearly makes him sob.

It doesn’t matter, suddenly, that he knew there was no way out. It doesn’t matter that they’ve planned this. A monster crawling forward, and nowhere to go— No, he can’t, Varian just _can’t._

Haven’t they—hasn’t it—hasn’t everything else been enough? Why, why do things keep getting _worse_?

(A quiet question, lingering in the back of his mind, spurred on by angry accusations and the look on Rapunzel’s face, mere minutes ago, before the golem broke open their prison: Does he deserve this?)

He has never felt such disgust and terror on this scale. Varian has never faced a being like this before, and he can’t even find excitement in the mystery of it. The last creature he faced, the automaton beneath the castles; it had been deadly, yes—but machine, technology, endlessly fascinating and refreshingly fallible. This… this thing, this golem of black stone—it has no such weakness.

It reeks of magic, and Varian is really starting to _hate_ magic.

Even knowing this, even knowing that the golem is still here, still behind them… Varian cannot go any farther. He collapses against the wall and tries to keep on his feet, but his chest is awfully tight, and the world is tunneling in on itself, and no matter how hard he tries—

“Varian,” Rapunzel hisses, and her voice is low and trembling. “Varian, we can’t stop here, we have to go—it’s almost here—"

He shakes his head against the stone. His eyes are burning. “No,” he gasps out. “No, I—I think it won’t work, we need to—I, I can’t—”

He can’t say any more; it takes all he has just to breathe. He almost topples, but Rapunzel’s hand steadies him. She drags him upright and shakes him again. His head jerks at the motion, left ear spiking with pain.

“We did it ten minutes ago and we’re doing it again now,” Rapunzel says firmly. Her hands are tight on his shoulders, fingers digging into his collarbone. “You have to get out, right? You have to… Quirin, your dad, you have to find answers, right?” She sounds near tears, voice choked and desperate, her words pitching high. “We can do this, we _will_ do this, and we don’t—we don’t have time, Varian, _get up!”_

It is hard to focus on her words, to hear them, to understand them. Yet, they ring a chord with him regardless. Anger and determination and sheer spite, and even though Varian feels half a second away from shaking apart at the seams—Varian gets up.

 _This used to be easier,_ Varian thinks. His eyes are shut tight against a wave of dizziness, his nails digging into Rapunzel’s arms for support. Being brave. Having strength. Feeling confident. Didn’t it all used to be so much easier?

He can hear the shrill screech of the golem’s advance. The tortured shrieking of its ill-fitted limbs rises ever higher as it approaches them.

Varian hates having to rely on her, he hates how it is _Rapunzel_ who knows what to say, who knows how to get him moving. Damn her, damn this golem, damn this labyrinth. He hates it all, no matter how petty or childish it sounds, and if he can’t be brave or confident he can at least be _spiteful._

The glow from the rocks is too dim to judge the distance, but it is bright enough for Varian to see a gleam once the creature’s blade rises up to swing. The golem is unearthly silent, blue eyes bright and glowing and right there, right in front of them, backing them against the wall—

“Now,” Varian gasps out, fighting to speak past his panic, and drags them both down right when that gleam—that deadly blade—starts to strike.

Rapunzel’s hand falls away from the wall, and all the light goes out.

Fear is an icy grip on his heart, a chokehold around his throat. The memory of his dad running through his head, Varian pushes past it. In the dark, he can see nothing but the golem’s eyes, cannot even see the blade—but he can hear it, a slight swish over his head, a brief breeze of displaced air as it swipes just above them.

Varian doesn’t waste any more time—he moves, and he tows Rapunzel with him. She catches on quick, moving beside him—in the dark they duck around the creature and run, hearing a low screech echo behind them.

The creature is merely moving after them, and yet—it almost sounds like a cry of rage, and it is enough to make his blood run cold.

“Go!” Rapunzel cries. Blue bursts out beside them—she has found the wall again, her bare fingers trailing along the dark stone as they run. She leaves a faint glowing stream behind them, tiny blue-white fingerprints on a dark canvas.

Varian stumbles along at her side, his leg burning with every step, eyes searching the dark uselessly for another path.

At last he spies it, near-hidden in the gloom. “Here!”

She follows him without hesitation, the hall going dark as she turns, lighting up once more when her hand hits the wall. Screeches and loud shrieking of stone hound their heels. Varian looks over his shoulder and sees two glowing eyes, hanging suspended in the dark—turns back, and doesn’t look again.

They’ve made it. They have made it after all, and just this small victory lends him the burst of adrenaline he needs to keep going for a little while longer.

He doesn’t know how long they keep going. After a while the twists and turns bleed together in his addled mind, the dark and flashing blue glow making it hard to track where, exactly, they are going. By some stroke of luck, they don’t have to backtrack far again.

Every time Varian glances over his shoulder, he expects to see the eyes. He doesn’t, after a while. Another few minutes of straight running later, he can’t even hear the screech.

It is not a moment too soon. His breaths wheeze, his chest tight with pain. He feels a bit like he’s set himself on fire, a fever thrumming under his skin. His leg is in so much agony, just the thought of another step brings tears to his eyes.

“Wait,” Varian gasps, hating himself for the weakness. His voice is thin, and he can barely speak. He struggles to find breath, to find his voice, and his next attempt is much clearer. “Princess, w- _wait!_ ”

She stops, turning sharply, her hair flaring out at the motion. “What is it? Did you see something?”

Varian tries to talk again and finds he can’t, the world going dim, his legs suddenly weak. He falls forward, shoulder hitting the wall. Before he can strike the ground, Rapunzel catches him, falling to her knees with him, just barely stopping him from slamming into the dirt.

“Varian! What’s wrong! Are you—”

Varian doesn’t hear the rest. Everything goes dark, and then swims back into motion just as fast. He’s fainted, again. He hasn’t… he hasn’t done that since the start of their journey, or—no, when Ruddiger bit him, or—no, when was the last time—?

Varian can’t remember. His head hurts too much, and so does the rest of him, and everything is just so— _much_. It’s so much. He can’t understand it, and he doesn’t really want to.

“Wake up,” someone is pleading. Familiar, a familiar voice, but he cannot quite place it. “Wake up, I—I get it now, I’m sorry, we can—we can rest, okay? Just a short rest, we can do that—please, wake up—”

“I’m awake,” Varian mumbles. The world slowly slips back into place. The voice—Rapunzel. Had he fallen? No. He’d fainted, and she’d caught him—

A sudden spike of emotion gives him strength, and he pushes her away, crawling back and slipping free from her hold. Rapunzel lets him go, not even bothering to try and steady him again, her face pale.

“A rest,” she repeats. Her words are soft, rasping in her throat. “Let’s just… take a quick rest.”

“Just—a rest,” Varian agrees, too tired to fight her. Exhaustion drags at his limbs, punishment for his hasty reaction. Fear makes his throat close up. He scoots a little bit farther away, remembers the dark void at his back, and stops. He leans carefully against the stone wall of the labyrinth, feeling drained. “We—we got away. We escaped. We—we can rest, right? For a little bit.”

To his own ears, his voice sounds small. It startles him, angers him, but Varian is too tired to be angry, too afraid to keep from wanting to sleep. So what if he sounds childish? Afraid?

Varian is scared. He’s hurt. He wants to rest.

“Okay,” Rapunzel says. “Okay. Yes. You—we’re safe. For now. We can rest. We—we have to rest.” Her voice wavers, trembles, then firms. “We have to rest.”

Varian is barely paying attention. His eyes have already flickered closed, head tilting back to rest against the rock. “Okay,” he says in reply. He curls one arm around himself and leans against the wall, shivering faintly. “Just… just for a little bit.”

If she responds, he doesn’t hear it. Varian has already fallen asleep.

His dreams are feverish and restless, strange and dizzying. He dreams of a voice in his ears, of a crystal hall of mirrors. He dreams of looking into a mirror, seeing Rapunzel instead of himself. He dreams of Old Corona—and his reflection smiles, his own face accusing him of all his ills.

_Who else could be at fault, if not you?_

He wakes up crying.

Varian scrubs his palm over his eyes, chest hitching on quiet sobs, shoulders shaking. His mind is fogged and dazed from the dreaming, but he is still aware enough to recognize a touch at his shoulder.

“Varian, you… are you all right?”

He turns blindly, smacking the hand away. “Shut up,” he whispers. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to her or perhaps to the dream. “Shut up!”

His vision slowly slides into focus just as Rapunzel pulls away.

“Leave me alone,” Varian snaps, voice ruined from tears, and Rapunzel closes her eyes. She is sitting beside him, strangely silent. Her arms are crossed over her knees, her legs pulled up into her chest. Her head hangs low, hair concealing her face. She is shaking, just faintly.

“Okay,” she says. The words are uncertain, tone carefully neutral. “Fine. Sorry.”

Something about her voice pricks at him, and guilt strikes sudden and sharp at his heart. Varian tilts his head, eyes open to mere slits to stare at her, uncomprehending. Why—why does he feel guilty? He has nothing to feel guilty for, and yet, something about her voice…

Memory and reality reassert itself with a snap. Before the golem—before the wall had broken… and Varian realizes all at once that perhaps he has something to feel guilty for after all.

Rapunzel’s tears and her cold fury seem oddly distant now, as if it happened a lifetime ago. Yet, all the same, it feels how it is—only an hour past, and the things she had said…

Something curdles in his throat. Varian thinks he might be sick. He turns away from her, trying to rub warmth back into his palms. His hands feel cold. So does the rest of him.

 _I’m not wrong_ , Varian reminds himself, but something about that sounds amiss to him. He can’t be wrong, and yet—he had believed wholeheartedly in that, that Rapunzel did not and could not understand, that no one else had gone through what he had. That no one _could_ go through what he had, and choose differently. And yet.

It is different, of course. It is not completely the same. But there are enough similarities to make Varian feel ill at ease with it all.

In a way, it sounds far worse than he has ever imagined. Eighteen years locked in a tower. Betrayed by a mother, and then watching her die. Secrets and lies…

Eighteen years, Varian thinks, and shivers faintly at the thought. That is longer than Varian has been alive. He tries to imagine it—his whole life confined to one place, one room, never leaving and never going outside—and feels sick, bile burning sour in the back of his throat.

Varian rubs warmth back into his tingling palms, swallowing back bile. _Don’t forget,_ he tells himself. Don’t forget what she’s done. Don’t forget what she’s done to him and Dad, the false blame she forced upon his shoulders…

Where every other excuse fell flat, this one holds steady. Yes, yes, in this he is still right. The amber— it doesn’t matter what Rapunzel has said, it doesn’t, because she still betrayed _him,_ she still hurt Varian, she still killed Dad—

His train of thought stutters and grinds to a halt. No, not—killed, why would Varian think that? Trapped. _Trapped._ Dad is only trapped.

The slip, slight though it is, is enough to make his head spin. Varian turns to his side and spits out a mouthful of sour bile, trying not to choke.

Rapunzel’s voice is hesitant, alarmed. “Varian?”

 _Go away,_ Varian wants to say. He thinks and wills it with all his being. _Go away. Leave me alone. You don’t care, it’s your fault, I wasn’t wrong…_

He can’t force any of the words past his throat. Varian releases a shaky sigh and sags against the stone wall. His eyes burn traitorously. His stomach is a twisting mess of knots, and Varian can’t tell whether its fear or… or something else.

_Was I wrong?_

It’s funny. He can’t tell what he is more afraid of—the golem, or her.

“Sorry,” he says finally. She goes carefully still beside him, unmoving. Some part of him wants to sneer. Most of him can’t understand what he’s saying, why he’s doing this. But…

Rapunzel had cried. She’d broken, and she had raged, and she had revealed something that, in hindsight, she had probably never wanted him to know. And Varian can admit this much to himself. He can’t use it against her. He… he doesn’t _want_ to use it against her. Rapunzel had broken down and cried, and… and Varian hadn’t felt any better for it.

Mostly he’d just felt worse.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says to the ground, unwilling to meet Rapunzel’s eyes, to look at her face. “The… the tower, and… yeah.” He swallows hard, closing his eyes again, turning away. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. It doesn’t mean he’s wrong, or that she’s right. It’s just—decent. It’s just decent.

“You didn’t deserve that,” Varian admits, and then he shuts his mouth tight, says nothing else. Refuses to say anything else. There is a dam building up in his throat, words and apologies and— _something,_ something he doesn’t want to admit, a little whisper that has haunted him since the moment Ruddiger attacked him, and Varian will be damned if he ever says it aloud.

He holds it back, whatever it is, and the words he’s already said hang heavy in the silence.

Rapunzel is quiet for a long while.“Oh,” she says finally, sounding blank. “I… okay.”

He waits, and when she offers nothing else, Varian nods at this. He feels as if some accord has been reached, and so he curls against the wall and closes his eyes, his job done. He doesn’t move near her, but he doesn’t move away again, and for once he isn’t as—angry, or as frightened of her as he had been.

“Okay,” Rapunzel says again, softer, under her breath. “Okay.”

They sit there in the quiet for a little while longer, until the time starts to stretch and their rest becomes more terrifying than helpful. In some silent agreement, they start to move again as one. They don’t talk. They don’t help each other.

But for once it does not feel as it used to. For once the silence is comfortable, rather than cold—for once, even in pain, even tired, Varian doesn’t feel so angry.

It’s not a bad feeling, he thinks, and keeps on limping down the new hall, following in Rapunzel’s wake. But Varian knows, with a tired sort of certainty that feels like a heavy weight on his heart, that this newfound peace is probably not going to last.

And he has the awful sense that when it does fail, it will be because of him.

-

The first thing Adira does is lead the group away from the mountain.

Despite her two new companions’ complaints at her secrecy, they grow quiet once it becomes clear that Adira isn’t rising to the bait. She can feel their eyes on her back like a physical weight, their impatience and frustration so thick she could cut it with her sword. Only their own hunger and her promise of further answers keeps them silent, Adira suspects—a blessing she is grateful for, as this is not a conversation she wishes to have at all, let alone beside that godawful pile of black rocks.

She doesn’t look back at it again—earlier had been a moment of unfortunate nostalgic weakness on her part, and Adira doesn’t plan on repeating it. She’s not here for regret, for moping, for memories. She is here to do her duty.

Despite this silent vow, Adira cannot help but be wary of the mountain.  It takes all she has to keep her eyes forward, to keep from looking back once more. It unnerves her—the unfamiliarity of it, the twenty years of change—and the fact that in some ways, it hasn’t changed at all. A mountain, a tower, and a monster within.

Bitter thoughts, perhaps; likely even unfair. Adira doesn’t know the full story—no one does, which means snap judgments are not the answer here. But then, she is in no mood for niceties.

Adira is amazing, of course, but even amazing people are allowed to be petty.

At last, she finds a spot relatively clear of the black rocks, far enough away from the mountain and any other spying ears. In a better world, they perhaps could have gone farther, but… it is near evening, and Adira does not want this conversation to happen past nightfall. And she doubts her “guests” will wait until tomorrow either, not when their time is so very limited.

Adira stops here, kicks the sole of her boot through the dust, and then turns to the others. “Well,” she says. “Any one of you lot got a blanket?”

They do, thankfully, and they set up their camp with reluctance, continually glancing at Adira from the corners of their eyes like they think she might vanish. As they work, Adira fishes out her pack from where she’d left it and pulls out her food, setting up a fire. Soon she has meat roasting and canteen water boiling, a stew half-way to completion. It is far simpler than what Adira would normally supply, but… well. The Dark Kingdom isn’t exactly a place with lots of provisions as is.

Adira has still got her Gouda cheese, though. Small victories!

Within minutes, the smell wafts over the camp, enticing and hearty. None of her new companions join her, not even the animals, though Adira can practically sense their hunger. She sees the man—Eugene Fitzherbert, what a mouthful _that_ is—wince, his face pinching as one hand rises to clutch at his stomach.

Adira doesn’t call them out on it. When the stew is cooked, she ladles it into some bowls and passes it around. She even has a vegetarian version for the animals, because, once again: she’s amazing.

Once the food has been taken, Adira gets her own bowl and eats quickly, the stew resting heavy on her tongue. She doesn’t have much appetite, but she isn’t worried about wasting food—she knows her new companions will want refills, and besides, the pot is still half-full.

They do want refills, and they all ask for them, even the sour-faced girl—Cassandra, less of a mouthful, still far too long a name—no matter how it must pinch at their pride. Adira isn’t surprised, and waits while they eat, grateful for the time to gather her thoughts.

By some strange circumstance, Adira has been placed with her back to the horizon, facing the crystal and black rock mountain in the east. Even this far out, the mountain looms tall and ominous above her. The land surrounding it is barren and dead, devoid of any signs of life. Just dirt and dust and those damnable black rocks, not a house or tree in view.

The sight makes Adira’s hands clench. Twenty years, and already her home has vanished, buried beneath the rock. It has been erased so completely that if not for the Moon’s Tower, no one would even suspect anything or anyone had once lived here. It makes her furious.

Adira shakes her head, grimacing faintly, annoyed with herself yet again. She hadn’t come to wallow in her memories, but she has forgotten how strong memory can be. Even the air, the cloudy sky, the smell… it has changed, of course it has, but it is similar enough that it still sends her heart singing.

 _Home,_ some weaker part of her is calling. _Home at last._

But home has been dead and gone for over twenty years now, and Adira sighs, closing her eyes to the sight.

When the group finally finishes their early dinner, Adira gathers their bowls and sets them to the side for later. She checks their surroundings one last time, makes a sweep of the camp and straightens out her pack. At last she finds she cannot stall any longer.

Adira bites back a sigh, reluctantly turning her focus on them. Oh, she doesn’t want to do this. It has never been in Adira’s nature to chatter, or to spill secrets. But the time for secrecy is over, and well… if honesty is what is required, then she will do her best. Adira is amazing, after all—there is nothing she can’t do.

That doesn’t mean she has to _like_ it, however.

Adira sits down cross-legged on the blanket, back straight and hands resting on her knees. She smiles at them, close-lipped and professional. They stare back. The desperation in their eyes would be pitiful if Adira didn’t know the feeling firsthand.

“We’ve waited,” the man says, sharply. Impatience coats every word, and his hands clench and unclench in a nervous gesture by his sides. “Seriously, lady, as much as we appreciate the food—now would be a great time to start talking!”

The threat is mild, but still there. Adira raises an eyebrow, intrigued. (Stalling, her? Of course not. She doesn’t need to stall. Still…) “Oh? Or what?”

He falters, and then his expression hardens. He jabs his thumb to his companion. “Or you’ll have to deal with _her_.”

Adira looks to the girl. The girl glares back and flexes her hand around her sword hilt.

It takes all Adira has to keep from laughing. Oh, they truly believe it! They really think that this girl, this _child_ could be a threat to her? Hilarious.

A small part of her itches to prove them wrong, but… the time for fun and games is long behind them. Besides, at this point it really _would_ just be stalling, and Adira runs from nothing, difficult conversations included.

Plus, for these two… it would not be a good idea to prove her worth, not now. They are desperate, and if believing in their strength is what is holding them together, well. There is no harm in letting the delusion lie. Breaking it will only hurt them—and Adira, too. She wants to be their ally, not their enemy, and they have no more time to spare for misunderstandings.

She smiles, instead, and just barely keeps from rising up his challenge. It is perhaps harder than it should be. Ahh, it’s been ages since she’s had a good fight, damn it.

Now is not the time. Adira bunches her fingers into the rough cloth of her tunic and keeps her hands still and steady on her lap. “Well,” she says finally, bright and mild. “I guess I _did_ promise you answers…What would you like to know?”

The girl—Cassandra, short hair, sharp eyes, borrowed sword—leans forward, expression twisted into a fierce glare. “First,” she says, sharply, waving down her companion when the man goes to speak. “Why did you lead us all the way here? Why couldn’t we talk back there?”

Oooh, a suspicious one. This talk is going to be so much trouble; Adira can feel it. She turns the full force of her mild expression on the girl—Edges, that’s what Adira will call her—and says, “The walls have ears, didn’t you know?”

At their blank expressions, Adira pauses, considering them. Maybe they didn’t know, then—oh, ouch. The more she learns, the worse their situation becomes.

“Or, well,” Adira amends finally, “the mountain does, at any rate.” As does every single black rock out here, but Adira doesn’t say that. She suspects if they knew how thoroughly they’d been trapped and tracked, it might just freak them out. And Adira most definitely doesn’t want to deal with _that_ sort of mess.

Even this little makes them go pale. “That creature—the… the Moon, it—she—she can hear us?”

Hear, see, track… not to mention the legends about the scope of her spying during the midnight hours. Adira merely nods. “Yes.” Like the stories from her youth, only much more horrific in practice. _Sun, ever thoughtful; Moon, ever watchful._ They had said it like a comfort then, but now the old folksong carries within it an awful truth.

“The rocks are… a part of her,” Adira continues, forcing the words through her teeth. This ‘total honesty’ thing is grating on her, really it is. “Or, they are willed into being by her, whichever story you believe. Regardless—they are how the Moon usually chooses to interact with our world.” Her mouth twists, thoughts turning bitter at this reminder. “And how she keeps track of it.”

Edges grits her teeth, eyes sharp. “And your sword?”

They _had_ noticed her blade; Adira had wondered. She smiles in slight approval, shrugging with her palms up, letting the hilt rise up over her shoulder and reveal some of the shining stone. “It’s disconnected. From what I can tell, once the rocks are broken… she can still use them, if she is close, and within contact. But her power wanes the more distance there is.”

“Okay, fine,” Edges says, her voice rising. Her hands clench, a muscle in throat jumping. “Of course it does, sure, why not! Fine, then, but—that, that is—Moon? The Moon? Are you _joking?_ ”

Ahhhh, and there it is. Adira has been expecting this. It sort of figures that it’s Edges to ask first—if Adira had been a betting man, and had someone to bet with, she would have placed her money on the girl. It’s nice to be proven right.

Adira tilts her head, keeping her face blank. “You think I am lying?”

The man—Eugene Fitzherbert, dark hair, dark eyes, smiling like he is trying not to break—forces a laugh. It’s a very good attempt, for all the turmoil he must be feeling. Just the sound makes his companion relax. Good at holding things together, isn’t he?

The laugh doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and Adira contemplates over her options. Fish-skin? Glue? Masks? Ahh, but perhaps… Pretender?

He is still smiling, and Adira can almost ignore the falseness of it. If she didn’t know any better, she might even believe in it. He is surprisingly good at faking.

Pretender it is, Adira decides.

“I mean,” Pretender is saying now, voice wavering. “The moon? You gotta admit that sounds…”

“Ridiculous,” Edges buts in.

“Yes, thank you, Cass. Ridiculous. I mean, the Moon—that’s just a story! She’s just a story… a fairy tale!”

“All fairy tales have a ring of truth to them,” Adira replies calmly, and watches with interest when they both flinch. Hmm, interesting. Have they heard those words before? That will make this easier then. “I assure you—it is most definitely her.”

Pretender still seems to be having some trouble with the idea, because he shakes his head at this. He spreads out his hands, palms up and open in a plea, his expression helpless. “The moon. The Moon. Scourge of humanity, enemy of all that is light and warm, mythical creator of numerous scary beasts and monsters… _that_ Moon?”

At this, Adira shrugs.  “I can’t say,” she replies, a touch regretful. “There’s a lot of different legends about her, and unfortunately, there’s no real way to tell which are true or false. The story I know is quite different.”

Edges stares at her. Her eyes are wide, struck with stunned understanding, before they narrow again, suspicious once more. Her hands are clenched tight in her lap, unease lurking in her face. “Let me guess. In your stories, the Moon is a good guy.”

Hah, now isn’t that a funny way of putting it? Adira waves her hand in the air in a so-so motion, a grimace pulling at the corner of her lips. “Ehh… It was more about romance than morality, but sure, let’s go with that.”

Edges and Pretender exchange glances. Adira watches their silent conversation with interest—Edges’s scowling visage and undeniably shake of the head, Pretender’s crooked eyebrow and rueful expression.

At last the two seem to come to an agreement, because Pretender leans in, elbow propped on his knee. “Then—if, if it is the Moon—how do you—how do you even know this? How do you know Rapunzel is okay?”

“Trust me,” Adira replies. “I spent _years_ researching that lady. It’s her. And as for your friends…” She shrugs, ignoring the sharp twist of guilt in her gut at the reminder of the two who are missing. If Adira hadn’t waited… if she had approached sooner… could all this have been avoided?

She pushes the guilt down forcefully as soon as she recognizes it. This isn’t the time.

Adira mulls over her thoughts, trying to find the best way to explain it to them. It is simple, to her, but well—not everyone is Adira. She can be gracious.

“Every story is different,” she decides finally, meeting their stares with solemn gravitas. “Every legend tells a completely separate chain of events. But,” she adds sharply, holding up one finger to their faces, “the one constant? Sun and Moon are _always_ connected. Always, without fail. Lover, enemies, acquaintances… it doesn’t matter. In every tale, they are together. In over a hundred fables, there is not a single story that has one without the other.”

She lets her hand drop to her knee again, shaking her head. “Princess Rapunzel is the Sundrop. If the Moon really wanted to kill her… she would have done it ages ago. She _could_ have done it ages ago. No. No, she brought her here for a reason.”

Pretender leans back, hands interlocked and fingers twiddling. His eyes flit across Adira’s face, searching for something. “And, uh… what reason would that be?”

Adira holds back a wince, keeping her face impassive. She’d known this was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

The reaction is instantaneous. Edges sits up straight, her cold hazel eyes flashing in the light; red climbs up into Pretender’s cheeks, his teeth gritting visibly. “You don’t—?”

“I can guess,” Adira interrupts, before he can snap at her. The Moon’s Opal, perhaps. The Dark Kingdom. King Edmund, if he is even still alive in that place. A number of possibilities, but… well. “As I said—I know a lot. But even _I_ don’t know everything.”

This mollifies them only slightly. Edges is stiff and unmoving, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles jut, her jaw tense and eyes staring daggers out into the distance. There is something terribly fragile in her eyes, a look like broken glass. Pretender is little better—he forces yet another smile, tight and unhappy, his eyes unreadable. Unlike Edges, he doesn’t avoid Adira’s gaze—he meets her stare head-on, bright with challenge, begging her for the truth.

But this is the truth, or at least it is all the truth Adira can give, and finally Pretender sighs, ceding defeat. The anger bleeds out from his shoulders, eyes casting low. “Okay,” he says finally. “Okay. If you can’t say, then—that’s fine. That’s _fine.”_ His voice goes hard, and his eyes rise again, bright with unshed tears and fierce in his helpless fury. “Then tell me this, instead. Why are you here? Why now? How— how do you _know_ all this?”

Adira cannot quite contain her flinch at those words, and she notes ruefully that they both have noticed. Of all the questions to be asked, she likes this one the least. She doesn’t want to say, but… well. The honesty thing.

Maybe she should have accepted that challenge after all. She’d much rather fight than be forced to admit this. And yet… they will never trust her word, if she does not give them something; her offer will fall on deaf ears if her information is deemed suspect. In this, her comfort level is null and void.

“I...”

Words fail her. Adira sighs, bowing her head slightly in thought, eyes half-lidded and far away, seeing another time and place. “A long time ago, this place… it used to be a kingdom. The Dark Kingdom. I, and many others… we called it our home.”

Trees, rivers, people and cities… Adira can still see them sometimes, especially here, right in the thick of it. The phantoms of a world long-dead linger behind her eyelids. “But one day everything started going wrong. And it didn’t get better.”

Edges’s voice snaps through the sudden silence like a whip, making her companion jump with surprise. “Be more specific.”

Adira looks at her, long enough for it be uncomfortable, then shrugs and turns away. “About forty years ago,” she says finally, resigned to having to tell this story in full, “things started to get worse than they had ever been before.” Adira had been a child, then. Even now, after all these years, her most vivid childhood memory is her mother’s face the day their village well went dry. “The rivers died. The water dried. Plants wouldn’t grow, animals got sick… bit by bit, little by little, misfortune eating away at the kingdom like rot.” Until people had started dying, too. They’d left by the hundreds, and the rocks had risen up in their place.

“Then… twenty or so years ago, the Kingdom was… at its brink.” Dead, dust, ashes in the wind. She’d thought it could still be saved right up until Edmund had reached for the Opal and the Moondrop struck back. “I, and a few others… we were guards here, and we left this place behind. They didn’t look back.”

Edges is staring at her, eyes narrow, catching onto the specific wording. “But you did.”

A moment of weakness Adira has never quite forgotten or forgiven herself for. She grimaces. “Yes. You asked how I knew it was the Moon, specifically. Well…”

“You saw her?” Pretender asks, sounding stunned, and Adira smiles, old bitterness curling her upper lip. The memory is a cold one.

A kingdom left in ruins behind them, rocks rising after them as if to chase them out, swallowing whole what little remained of their castle and their kingdom. And there, in the midst of the chaos— a woman, tall and stately, skin as dark as the black rocks, eyes glowing like twin moons. Her hair white and shining like her Opal, blending into a strange fog that rolled after them like an ocean wave. The edges of her great form blurred, as if she was underwater, and yet….

That wide crescent smile, crystal clear and cold as ice, has haunted Adira’s memories for years.

“Yes,” she says. It is the easiest answer. “I saw her.”

“She killed your kingdom?”

And her king. Possibly. Adira has not dared return here in years, and she has no way of knowing if King Edmund survived his injuries. She doesn’t think the Moon meant to kill him. She also doesn’t think the Moon would help him, either.

“Yes.”

“ _Why?”_

Adira shakes her head. Their questions are ones she has pondered for decades, and in this, her efforts have been wasted. “I don’t know.”

Pretender shakes his head, frustration leaking into his tone, doubt in his expression. “And you think—even after all that, you still think she won’t kill Rapunzel.”

Adira feels exhausted. The same old questions, the same old response. In this, she can only guess the answer, and the uncertainty grates at her. She doesn’t like having it pointed out. “Not yet, at least. Not until she gets what she wants.”

Adira is careful with her wording, to make it as vague as possible. She doesn’t want them to ask about the boy. That the Moon will keep the Sundrop alive… of that, Adira is certain. But the boy who was trapped with the Princess, Quirin’s son, human to the core, with no Sundrop to give him leverage…?

Adira doesn’t even want to think about it. She has already revealed to these people her greatest trauma—anything else, they don’t need to know.

This time, her careful wording goes unnoticed, their attention caught by the terrible story she has spun. Pretender leans in, hands clasped before his face, turmoil behind his eyes. “And you—is that—is there _any_ way we can tell for sure? Any way to break her out?”

Adira looks Pretender full in the face. His smile is gone, now. Edges is shaking. In this, they are soft; in this, they cannot pretend. Their fear is plain to see on their drawn faces, their desperation so thick she can practically smell it.

And Adira is not one in the practice of being gentle, but for this once, she makes an exception. Her voice low, her words placid, softening the blow. “No.”

“Useless,” Edges snarls suddenly, and her hands are clenched into tight fists. She is trembling. “What good are you, if you can’t even—”

Pretender puts a hand on her shoulder. “Cass, wait.”

“It’s fine,” Adira says, and raises one hand. The sky is beginning to darken, the smog at the horizon line turning a deep and bloody red; sunset is fast approaching. They have only a little bit of time left before they are under the Moon’s watchful eye once more. She has to wrap this up, and soon. “I know it’s frustrating. Believe me, I know.”

“That’s all you’re giving us!? A story, more questions, one-word answers? That’s it? W-what, did you come all the way here just to tell us we’re _useless_?” Edges’s voice cracks on the word. Her eyes are bright with tears. She has stood, arms raised as if to fight, a desperate cast to her face.

Adira lifts both eyebrows at her, meeting her eyes calmly. “No,” she says again. She draws herself up and places a hand on her sword, meeting their gaze squarely, glancing between them to make sure she still holds their attention. “I didn’t come to tell you to give up. I came to give you answers…” She draws her sword, tilting her hand so that the dark blade catches in the light. “And to help you fight.”

Edges pauses. Slowly, hope a faint glow in her dark eyes, she looks to Adira. “There’s—there’s a way?”

Adira grins at her, all teeth. “Yes. It’s dangerous, though. Risky. It will almost certainly end in injury, and probably even in death. But it _will_ help Princess Rapunzel—if you’re willing to try.”

Another glance exchanged between the group, and then both of them settle back down before her. No words exchanged, no questions asked, not even a hint of hesitation. Eugene Fitzherbert and Cassandra, friends to Princess Rapunzel, practically an afterthought in her story. Braver than the world will ever bother to remember.

A pretender and a girl that is all edges… but there is no hesitation in their eyes, and despite their fear, their hearts are set, unwavering even in the face of this adversity. Perhaps it is worth remembering their names after all.

“Tell us what to do,” the girl named Cassandra says, and Adira smiles.

-

Rapunzel is growing tired.

In truth, she has been exhausted for ages now. Their slow trek through the labyrinth is agonizing, their blind navigation through the looming dark corridors and twisted paths driving her nerves up the wall. The air here is cold and stale, scraping through her sore throat. She can’t stop shivering. Worse still, the deeper they go, the more her terror climbs. What if there is nothing at the center? What if they can’t find a way out?

Do they even have a choice? Every time Rapunzel much as stops for breath, dread crawls up her throat. The creature, and its golem—they are still in here. Still in this labyrinth, still in this maze, and unlike Rapunzel and Varian, it doesn’t get tired. It doesn’t get lost, and it doesn’t get hurt.

Everywhere she turns, a new disadvantage arises. Even Varian— his apology had surprised her, heartened her, but now she cannot help but view it as a bad sign. He is… tired. More than tired—fatigued, weary, faltering. His face is lifeless and colorless in the blue light, his eyes dazed. Rapunzel hasn’t checked or changed his bandages in days, now that she thinks about it. His leg, his ear… how are they? How is he? As hungry and as tired as her, probably, but Rapunzel doesn’t think he can afford such weakness.

They can’t keep going like this.

The thought grates on her, but they have to rest. They _have_ to. Not the way they have thus far, catching half-hour stops of sleep as they run blindly through the dark. They need to settle, even if only for a few hours… or this labyrinth will kill them before the golem ever gets the chance.

The idea of just stopping here, however, makes her go cold. It is funny, in a way, how quickly Rapunzel’s opinion has changed. She wants to be somewhere enclosed and safe, wants to sit in perfect darkness, comforted by the knowledge that if the golem were here, she would see the glow of its eyes from afar. Even if the idea of staying in an enclosed space makes her nauseous, makes her heart beat fast and her memories of her tower rise up… it is still better than staying out in the open.

What if the golem is not the only thing out there?

Icy fingers crawl down the length of her spine at the idea. No, she can’t think about this. She can’t consider the what-ifs and maybes, not when surviving the present is already taking everything Rapunzel has. She just… she has to focus on one thing at a time. A shelter, an enclosed space, somewhere safe to stop, somewhere they can rest…

Rapunzel keeps an eye out, squinting blindly out into the dark. The glow from the rocks is dull, even more so than it had been in the cave—there, the small space had meant the glow was contained, bright against the nearby walls. Here, the darkness swallows up the faint illumination, confines their line of sight to a thin and wavering sphere of blue light. She searches the dark for something she can’t even see, and probably won’t even recognize.

She doesn’t even know what she’s looking for, really, and Rapunzel bites back the urge to cry.

There’s something. There must be. This labyrinth, these empty corridors and twisting halls… it can’t just be this. This can’t be all there is. The tower, rising up in the center—surely, there must be something else beside it? Something they have yet to see?

Her own thoughts sound dangerously desperate. Rapunzel grits her teeth and forces herself to move on.

For another few paces, she searches, hands reaching out, hoping against hope. Varian follows beside her, but he is slowing, and she notices each time he falters. They have to stop. They _have_ to.

 _A little farther,_ Rapunzel tells herself. A few more steps, one last corridor. They can make it. There must be something, there simply must be, and surely they can find it…

Ten minutes pass without any changes. Varian is limping visibly. Rapunzel bites down hard on her lip.

Her heart drops, and her hope fades. She takes a breath, preparing to speak. She is just about to suggest to Varian they go hide in one of the dead-ends, when suddenly her hand hits something rough.

Rapunzel freezes in place.

The black rocks are hard and unyielding, except for the places where they layer, spikes superimposed to create a wall. Except for that, they are utterly and unnaturally smooth. They are not rough, or coarse, or scratchy against her bare palm. Which means this is not stone.

Rapunzel leans in, bringing her hand closer, her breath catching. It isn’t stone. It’s wood. Wood planks, a windowsill, glass…

The shape becomes abruptly clear to her. However impossible it seems— it’s a _house_.

Or, perhaps, only remains of one. Now that she is closer, she can see much more of it. Only half of the home remains, the other cut off by the rock walls. It is as if the stone had burst up and calmly sliced the building into two, leaving one half trapped and secure between the two rising walls of the labyrinth’s corridor. Unlike those ruins from weeks ago, it is a modern house, the shape and design familiar to her. Wood walls, a door swinging on empty hinges, windows with panes opaque from grime, decaying red curtains faded with age… a _house._

The sight makes her go still and cold. The desolate nature of the place comforts her a bit, and the way the rock wall of the labyrinth tears through one side lends credibility to her find merely being a lucky accident. Yet, she cannot help but doubt their own good fortune. What if it is not a lucky break? What if this too is another trap, a trick of the labyrinth?

Can they afford to ignore it?

“Is that—” Varian asks from beside her, sounding stunned, and Rapunzel shakes her head in disbelief. “You see it too, right? I’m not—it’s actually—”

“I see it too,” Rapunzel confirms, her own voice hushed. Her mind kickstarts into motion again, thoughts swirling like a storm. This is… this is exactly what they need. A safe haven, a shelter, a roof… and, and if it is a house, perhaps—food. Medicine. Supplies?

It seems too good to be true, but Rapunzel cannot help but pray. The question of why—why a house, why here, in a place where no-one would dare to live—needs to wait. For now, this discovery is a stroke of good fortune she is loath to question.

“Let’s go in.”

Beside her, Varian visibly shrinks in on himself, bright eyes locked on the house. “Um, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s right in the middle of the path,” Rapunzel replies, and touches Varian’s shoulder to guide him to the door. “We have to go through anyways, unless we want to backtrack, and… it might have supplies. A place to rest.”

Varian bites his lip, visibly uncertain, but she can see his fear faltering in the face of such a promise. He doesn’t trust the house, and she doesn’t blame him—but at this point, they don’t have a choice. Turning back is never a good option, not with a monster dogging their heels.

At last Varian steps forward. He hesitates in the threshold, leaning against the door to take the stress off his injured leg. When he looks back at her, his eyes bright and gleaming in the dull glow of the labyrinth walls. “Are you sure it isn’t a trap?”

“No,” Rapunzel whispers back. “But we don’t have any other options.”

Varian meets her eyes. He seems very small in this place, in this labyrinth, thin and wavering as if all his strength is fading. It terrifies her. Angry, hateful, defeated—all of these, she has seen before in Varian. But this is something different, and it sends cold spikes of terror down her spine.

“Okay,” Varian says finally, and turns away from her, stumbling through the doorway.

Rapunzel follows after him, touching on the loose door to catch her bearings, before she reluctantly pulls her hand away from the black stone wall. The blue light goes out, abandoning them at last. Now it is just them: Varian, Rapunzel, the empty house—and the dark.

Rapunzel lets loose a shuddering sigh, trying to ignore the lump of terror in her throat. She turns away from the outside and feels her way inside the house.

A moment of weakness strikes her heart, and she shuts the door behind her. It is a stupid action, a foolish illusion of safety, as if wood alone is a suitable shield for all the things waiting for them out in the gloom. She knows this, but she doesn’t go to reopen the door.

She can hear Varian jump at the slam of the door, the sharp hitch of his breathing echoing in the room.

“It’s just me,” Rapunzel says quietly.

Varian’s breathing is rasping, loud and labored in this small space, thin from exhaustion and scratchy with dust. “It’s dark,” he says finally, tone carefully neutral. “I can’t… I can’t see anything.”

Rapunzel swallows hard, closing her eyes to the gloom. He sounds young, near frightened, and this fragility in his voice terrifies her.

“We’ll get used to it,” Rapunzel says, and can hear Varian sigh in response. There is a quiet rustle of cloth as he moves, bare feet thumping softly on the old wood floors as he walks away from her. He doesn’t answer her.

Rapunzel purses her lips and turns away, going to explore the house. She steps gingerly, carefully, making sure to stay away from where she heard Varian. She doesn’t want to hit him by accident.

Her searching fingers touch a chair, a table, empty plates set out to collect nothing but dust. She swallows back her longing and her hunger and moves on.

Her hands trail over empty counters, fingers hooking on drawer knobs. Most of the shelves are empty, and but in one, at the very back, Rapunzel finds a small case. The feel of it is familiar to her, similar to something she once had in the tower. When the storms came and the winds howled, blowing all her candles out, and Rapunzel had inched for the drawer Mother had told her to look in, small hands enclosing around a wooden box—

Memory guides her, easing her through the motions. She opens the case, fumbling at the small object inside it. It takes her a moment to get her hand around the flintstone, but she does, and few quick strikes later a flame lights.

Varian’s breath catches. In the pale light, she can just barely see his silhouette across the room, standing in the shadow of a void that might be a doorway. “Matches?”

“I found a small box,” Rapunzel whispers back. Where the blue light had hurt, the wavering flame brings thankful tears to her eyes. She holds it up, squinting down. “I think—there’s maybe ten, eleven left?”

“Save them,” Varian urges, and Rapunzel nods in wordless agreement, one-handedly tucking the case into her satchel. The match is burning low now, nearly to her fingers, but she finds herself reluctant to drop it. She raises her arm, trying to navigate the bizarre maze of discarded furniture as the flame inches ever closer to her bare hand.

The strangeness of the house hits her suddenly. She looks around the empty room, scoured clean of items and life, a hollow shell of a home. “Why is this here?”

“What are you talking about?” Varian asks, voice breathy with pain. He sounds distant, and she can’t see him anymore—the void must be a door after all, and he is in a separate room. “You mean, the house?”

“Yes. I thought—there’s nothing here, in this land. I didn’t know anyone could live here.”

Varian goes silent. “It’s old,” he whispers back, after a long and thoughtful pause. “Abandoned. But not that old. Not like the ruins.”

“Then someone must have lived here once,” Rapunzel says, and stifles a yelp when a burning pain strikes her fingertips. The flame has reached her hand. She drops the match by accident and watches as the light goes out, plunging them into the dark once more. She rubs at her burned fingers absently. “But then… if people were here … what happened to them?”

Varian’s voice is very quiet. “And why did they leave?”

Rapunzel presses her lips together, unsettled. She walks blindly to the other side of the house, unwilling to light another match.

“Princess?”

She ignores his almost-slip, reaching out, feeling her way along the wall. “Yes?”

“Where are you _going_?”

“I think—I saw another door here. I think maybe the pantry—” Her hand knocks the door, and she stops talking, fingers finding a gap and tugging the door open. Cold air wafts out. She breathes in, but she can’t smell anything.

There might be nothing here, same as the rest of the house, but… perhaps. If not food, maybe a candle stub, or more matches. At this point, Rapunzel would take absolutely anything.

She lights another match, faster this time, holding it up into the gloom. In the wavering firelight she can see rows of empty shelves, almost nothing remaining.

Rapunzel finds a shallow dish and a few candle stubs on the shelf closest to her head, and places them in her satchel too, for safe-keeping. Any light is welcome. But it is not what she had hoped for, and Rapunzel kneels down to search the floor. No medicine that she can see, no food that is safe to eat.

 _Not yet, anyway,_ Rapunzel reminds herself, refusing to give up hope. She squints at the floors, reaching one hand blindly into the shadows of the pantry.

Cold air, dead bugs.  And then her fingers wrap around cold glass, and the firelight illuminates golden liquid.

Her breath catches, and she pulls the jar free. “Varian!”

At her cry she hears a muffled thump and a curse; the surprise of it all makes her jump. The match slips in her hand, going out with another vengeful bite at her fingers. Rapunzel curses softly, dropping the match at last. Her fingers prickle.

“…Varian?”

Varian’s voice is quiet and tired, distant to her ears. “I’m fine. What is it?”

“How long does honey last?”

He is silent for a long while and then she hears him reply, louder this time, the thump of his uneven footsteps now audible to her ears. “I—I don’t know. If it's sealed well… Did, did you find—?”

“I think so,” Rapunzel replies, hardly daring to hope. “One sec.”

She is reluctant to waste another match, so she uses her senses instead, scouring the bottom shelf blindly with her hands. She finds five small glass jars—two have been opened, but the last three seals feel secure.

She cracks the jars open, fear and hope warring in her gut. The first jar—it smells awful, the honey rock hard under her cautious touch. She sets it back. The second jar is the same.

The third, at last, gives her what she hopes for. The smell is sweet, untainted. When Rapunzel dips in her fingers, the honey tastes saccharine and unspoiled, crystallized but still soft.

Food. After two days of nothing—food at last.

The joy of her find bolsters her, and Rapunzel lights another match, igniting one of the candle stubs and setting in the shallow dish so she doesn’t trip. She makes her way back to Varian with a beaming smile on her face. “I found honey!”

“Yay,” Varian says, sounding exhausted. “Honey.” But in the dark she can see him perk up a little more, face brightening at their good fortune. He has moved back into the main room, settled by the corner, sitting with his legs up to his chest. By his side, she can see a small stack of heavy tomes, the covers unmarked and pages yellowed.

“What’s that?”

He shrugs. “I found them in the other room. Only room.” His voice sours a little. “I tripped on it. I guess who ever lived here, when they left… they were probably too heavy to take.”

She gives him a sideways smile. “So why did you?”

He shrugs, looking away, not meeting her gaze. “I don’t know. I couldn’t read what they were in the dark, but I didn’t want to leave them.”

So he had brought them here into the light, Rapunzel surmises, and smiles faintly at the thought. Even after all that has happened—Varian is forever curious, and for some reason, this reminder relieves her. He must be feeling better, to engage in that. To still be curious, even now, in this empty house and deadly labyrinth.

“Food first?” she offers carefully, holding out the jar like a peace offering, and he meets her eyes briefly, before glancing away.

“…Okay.”

Rapunzel smiles, uncertain but cautiously hopeful, and settles down cross-legged in front of him, the jar resting between them, the candle stub beside it. The flickering yellow light is faint but welcome, casting a wavering line of gold on its brass holder. It shines through the clear jar and golden honey, turning light into a soft amber glow, illuminating the tiny air bubbles swimming in the gold liquid.

They share their first meal in two days in utter silence. They eat with their fingers, scooping out small handfuls one by one. The honey stings at Rapunzel’s dry lips, the crystal crunching beneath her teeth. The taste so sweet it almost makes her throw up. Varian must have similar troubles, but he still finishes his portion without complaint. They need food, no matter what.

When at last the jar is empty but for a small puddle of leftover honey in the bottom, she pushes it to Varian. His head snaps up at this, eyes flashing, and Rapunzel shakes her head before he can snarl at her, too tired to fight, desperate to maintain this strange peace they have found between them.

“You’re more injured than I am,” she says, quiet, careful not to make the words either an accusation or a challenge. “You need the strength.”

She doesn’t mean to imply he is slowing her down, but the moment the words leave her lips she realizes abruptly how it sounds. Varian flushes a dull red, expression surly, and though he takes the honey jar, he does so with a dark glare.

Regret coils in her gut, but Rapunzel bites back an apology before it can leave her lips. No. No, she doesn’t owe him that. She feels bad about what she’s said, about how she’s yelled at him, but… she had still meant what she said, back then. She is tired of apologizing to him, over and over, when Varian himself feels no regret.

Rapunzel stays silent, looking away from him, absently drying her hands off on her skirt. A sudden desperate need of a distraction has her dragging the books he found to her side, the pages rustling as she pulls them onto her lap.

The first book is a diary—the hand-written text small and cramped, short and meaningless to her eyes. The date is stamped for nearly three decades ago, and she sets it aside once she realizes she can’t read the shorthand. The second is a collection of poems, the paper fragile and thin beneath her fingers.

She reads through the poems until her eyes ache, and finally places it to the side. The last book is the most curious of the three—the biggest of the lot, with an unmarked cover of thick and heavy leather. She flips open the dark cover, running her hands along the pages, and pauses, startled by the sight.

On the first page, a painting takes up the whole paper. The painting itself is unfamiliar to her, but the scene it depicts…

Rapunzel flips to another page, and shakes her head, quietly awed and a little shaken. She knows those paintings. She knows this story.

A slight chink has her head snapping up, her mind forcibly torn from the book. Varian has put down the glass jar, leaning closer. His own eyes are wide. “That is…”

“ _The Tale of Sun and Moon_ ,” Rapunzel reads, suddenly unwilling to look him in the eyes. All at once she remembers that yes, Varian knows this story too—knows the same version she does, in fact. “I’ve never seen it as a book…”

His eyes flash to hers, expression unreadable. “You know—?”

“…Yes,” Rapunzel admits, reluctantly. She looks away, feeling faintly ashamed. She had not mentioned this, back in the ruins; when Cassandra and Eugene had dismissed Varian’s version of this tale, Rapunzel had stayed quiet. “Moth—”

Rapunzel closes her mouth on the sound, feeling abruptly sick. For a moment she struggles to find her words, Varian sitting silent and still before her all the while.

“I… I never saw a book for it,” Rapunzel says finally, looking back down at the page to avoid his stare. She wonders what he is thinking, but she doesn’t really want to know. “I only ever heard the story aloud.”

She runs her fingers along the faded ink, the spiraling words taking up the whole page. This story had been one of her favorites, growing up. Now, to see it here, after all that has happened… for some reason, it leaves her feeling strangely cold. 

“ _Once,”_ Rapunzel reads quietly, barely paying attention to what she is saying, lost in the memory, “ _in a time long before us, there was a woman named Sun, with golden hair and a golden heart. Her soul shone so brightly that it lit up the whole world, and each day she would sing out to the sky, dazzling all the heavens with her light…”_

Beneath her fingers, the painted face of the Sun smiles back, dark-skinned and golden-eyed, her round face crinkled in a warm laugh. In the pale candlelight, her carefully inked hair seems to shine like real sunlight. 

Rapunzel turns the page, feeling caught in a dream, torn between memory and reality. Her hands shake, fingers white-knuckled on the crumbling pages. “ _But one day, as the Sun slipped below the hills to rest, she saw a beautiful woman dancing on the seas…”_

Rapunzel’s voice withers in her throat. Her breath catches. For a moment, she can’t breathe—can barely even think, her mind snagged by a sudden shock.

On the yellowed page, inked with smooth dark lines and colored by a careful hand, the Moon’s dancing figure entraps her. The image’s crescent smile and painted yellow-white eyes leave Rapunzel breathless.

All at once, Rapunzel is struck with a blinding terror. She slams the book shut so tightly it nearly slams on her fingers, her heart tight and strangled in her chest. She is on the edge of a realization that leaves her cold with horror.

Varian finches away from her, eyes wide at her sudden and harsh reaction. “What—”

Rapunzel isn’t listening. She stands suddenly, her heart a cold stone in her chest, her hands white and trembling minutely on the book’s cover. She lets the storybook drop on the floor, slipping free from her hands with little resistance.

Even with the cover now hiding those beautiful illustrations from view, Rapunzel can still see the painted Moon’s wide smile.

“We have to go,” she says, her voice quiet and tense to her own ears. “We, we have to… go. Now. Right now.”

Varian stares at her, and for a moment she is certain he is going to argue. He is going to fight her, and this strange peace will break and shatter between them, and she doesn’t want—she can’t—

The fight fades from his face, and Varian stands without complaint. “Okay.”

Rapunzel stares at him. Varian meets her gaze, and then his eyes drop, his expression uncertain. He crouches down to gather their things, holding the shallow dish with the candle in one hand, pushing her satchel into her hold with the other.

“Okay,” Varian says again. He won’t look at her. He sways on his feet like he’s having trouble standing. His voice is carefully blank, carefully neutral, devoid of warmth but also devoid of hate. “Let’s go, then.”

Rapunzel curls her sore fingers into her bag’s strap, stunned by his sudden cooperativeness. “O-oh. Oh. Yes.”

He nods, not looking at her, and moves around her to head for the back.

Rapunzel casts one last look at the book on the ground—one last glance, and even that sends her heart beating fast—and rushes to follow him.

In the back of the house, they find a back door, and step out of the hollow home into the labyrinth once more. The labyrinth spirals on into the dark and they rise up to meet it, drawing further into its dark depths. The only way left to go is forward.

Moving again, running again—her anxiety has returned, but it is good to leave, to move on. Even knowing that Varian will soon demand answers isn’t enough to quell her relief, for at least he isn’t asking _now._ Still. The abandoned picture book, the story, the house half-consumed by the stone… and the picture of the Moon, bright-eyed and smiling, stays with her.

Weeks ago, when they had found the ruins, there had been a phrase etched out in the stone. A warning and a message in one.

_The Sun heals and illuminates; the Moon protects and deceives._

The Moon’s Tower, the golem of black rocks, and a creature with a crescent smile and eyes glowing like miniature moons. Maybe it is nothing. Maybe it is just a coincidence.

But the air here is heavy with mystery, and the creature’s laughing eyes dance in her head, and Rapunzel thinks of those words— _the Moon deceives_. She thinks of fog and a face in the reflection, mazes and labyrinths and riddles. And Rapunzel thinks of the way that thing had spoken to her, its words almost sweet, the delight in its voice.

 _Hello,_ _dear Sundrop._

Maybe it is all a coincidence. Maybe not.

Rapunzel walks a little faster down the labyrinth, but the chill stays with her. The walls seem closer than ever before, the darkness an all-consuming void. The labyrinth is silent, but for their footsteps. No screech echoes in the distance, no eyes rest on her back, no golem dogs at her heels—not yet.

Rapunzel has a sinking feeling they will not remain so lucky for much longer.

-

It is not that Varian isn’t curious.

In truth, the sheer scope of Rapunzel’s strange reaction to that book has done nothing but bother him incessantly since it happened. The lack of knowing—the fact she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it—only makes him more determined to find out. Varian is no longer excited by secrets, no longer entranced by mysteries; his excitement has turned to a relentless need to simply _know_.

A secret is just another pretty word for lies, in the end, and Varian is sick and tired of having things kept from him.

So it’s not for lack of curiosity that keeps him quiet. It’s not even a wish to respect Rapunzel’s desire to avoid the subject, because for all that they are working together, Varian still despises her as much as he always has. (He does hate her. He _does._ No matter the similarities, nothing has changed, nothing is different, and her fear doesn’t matter at all. _)_

The reason he doesn’t ask—the reason he doesn’t dare—is for a far more frightening reason.

Varian is faltering.

They’ve rested, they’ve waited… but Varian is losing strength, losing energy, and at this point, not even a mystery can keep his attention. He’s just so tired. The fear hasn’t faded but his adrenaline sure has, and in its absence, Varian is weaker than he’s ever been before in his life.

Varian is _tired._

He has no idea of how long it has been since they’ve been trapped. Too long by far, Varian thinks, and yet, it is also almost time at all. It makes him faintly ashamed of the way his feet drag, of the exhaustion settling heavy on his shoulders. They have rested, they have waited, even though they really shouldn’t have—and yet, even after all that, he can’t force himself to move any faster.

He wishes that they’d stayed in that abandoned house. An hour of rest isn’t enough, and even the lingering mystery of the book and what Rapunzel saw there can’t pull him out of it.

Whether this labyrinth and its golem are created from magic or science, or what answers lie in that storybook, or even how Rapunzel knows the same tale as he does… what does it matter? It is hard to think of these things, let alone enjoy them, when his head aches and his leg burns, and every step sends a bruising pressure down the soles of his sensitive feet.

Varian bites at his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain, his fatigue, and the labyrinth itself twists his mind and emotions into knots. Is this path the right one? Is it another dead end? How long before all their doubling back and slow pace brings them face to face with that monster again?

He suspects, with dark pessimism, that the next time they run into the golem, they won’t escape unscathed. This isn’t like the cave. They are tired in more ways than one, now, and a short rest in a dead home and small jar of honey isn’t enough to ease that ache. They are slowing down, they are _breaking_ down, and sooner than later it's going to be the death of them.

 _What is the point of this?_ Varian wonders, and clenches his teeth against another stab of pain. What is the point of any of this, if they’re just going to die anyway?

Ahead of him, Rapunzel stops, sighing audibly. The sound is more exhausted than exasperated, halfway to a sob. “Oh…”

Varian blinks rapidly, forcing his mind back to the present. He limps to her side, looking up. The blue light radiating from Rapunzel’s hand shines out at a blank barrier, illuminating it and casting back their exhausted and dim reflections.

Another wall, another dead end. Varian falls sideways against the labyrinth and laughs weakly, cheek and temple pressed against cold stone. His voice is thin and breaking, eyes damp.

“Figures.”

Rapunzel purses her lips at the comment, but doesn’t deny the sentiment. After a long pause, she shakes her head and turns around to face him. Her expression is tight, cautiously and forcefully optimistic. “That’s fine,” she says. “That’s okay! We saw another road, remember, only a little way back, not as far as usual. That’s good news!”

“And if it isn’t the right way either?” Varian asks, a little bitter. “Are you going to—”

On instinct he looks up, glaring out at her, and the look on her face sends him stumbling to a halt. Rapunzel is gritting her teeth, holding her breath, not looking at him. In her lowered eyes he can see her exhaustion and her annoyance, can see her brace for whatever verbal blow he’ll deliver.

The cruel words wither on his tongue, sticking to his throat. Varian shuts his mouth with a snap, his anger falling away as quickly as it had risen. He turns away, shame poking sharp and hot at his insides.

Rapunzel doesn’t say anything for a long time. At long last, she sighs, breaking the silence. She walks past him without a backward glance, shoulder brushing roughly against his.

“Come on,” she says. She sounds weary, worn down to her limit. For some strange reason, just the sound of it makes him uneasy, restless and vaguely ill. “Let’s just go.”

Varian follows quietly after her, and keeps his eyes on the ground.

By a sheer stroke of luck, the other path doesn’t lead to a dead end, but Varian refuses to become too optimistic. He knows how mazes and labyrinths work. The closer they get to the center, the more constricted and fewer their paths will become. Soon there will be no path to take but the correct one, and neither time nor the golem at their heels makes that venture a promising one.

Strangely, though, as they continue onwards, the path begins to change. There are still walls, still a reliable road to walk—but all at once, Varian realizes he can see much better. The blue glow from the rocks is still the brightest thing in the corridor, but the darkness itself is lighter—like at nighttime, the world shadowed but still somewhat visible, illuminated by the moon and stars.

At first, he thinks he must be imagining it. But after another few turns, another long corridor later, and abruptly Varian realizes he doesn’t really need to the blue glow from the walls to see anymore. The darkness is light enough without it.

And at the very end of the path, if he squints, he can see a pinprick of brightness growing ever closer.

Varian stops in his tracks.

In front of him, Rapunzel has also paused. Her jaw is clenched tight, eyes staring out into the gloom, unfaltering and barely blinking. She stands carefully, back straight and shoulders back, feet spread as if to brace for a blow. Her hair frames her face like a heavy shroud.

The fear is cloying, strangling at his throat. “What…?”

Rapunzel curls the fingers of her hand on the stone wall, scraping her nails down the rock, before she reluctantly pulls the hand back to her side. The blue glow goes out, but in the distant white light, her silhouette is clearly visible.

Rapunzel shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“It could be a way out,” Varian suggests, feeling faint at the thought, and he can hear Rapunzel swallow heavily.

“I… no,” she says finally, tilting her head. “I don’t think… it’s too bright. It doesn’t look like sunlight. And…”

“And?”

“That’d be far too easy, I think,” Rapunzel says finally, voice forcibly mild. Her lips are pressed tight. “Don’t you think?”

Varian doesn’t respond right away, staring down the hall at the light. It does seem far too easy, but his heart still sinks in his chest. If it isn’t a way out, then what is it?

He is terrified of finding out, and judging by Rapunzel’s white-knuckled fists, she is too.

“Lead the way,” Varian tells her, and he means for the words to snap but they just sound small, instead. It startles him. It unnerves him.

He doesn’t have time to reflect on it. Rapunzel frowns briefly at him, shakes it off, and then moves forward, taking the lead without remark or protest. This startles him too. It reminds Varian abruptly of the last time they had worked together—months ago, when he cajoled her to help him steal the Sundrop flower. Exploring the tunnels had been frightening, almost fun, an exercise in fear, surprise, victory… and betrayal.

Back then, Varian thinks, hadn’t he taken the lead? He must have, he remembers it clearly. He had been… impatient, confident—

Confidence.

 _I used to have that,_ Varian thinks. Where did it go? When did he lose it?

It strikes him abruptly that he hasn’t felt certain—hasn’t felt confident—in anything for a long time. Not since Ruddiger… not since Ruddiger had attacked him.

 _I’m not wrong,_ Varian thinks. _I wasn’t wrong then, and I’m not wrong now._ But the words do not ring with truth like they once did, and all of sudden it occurs to him that he isn’t entirely sure anymore what it is he’s talking about. Wrong about… what, exactly?

The thought strangles him, torture him, a burning grip locked tight around his heart. The back of his throat burns from rising bile.

But Varian has no more time to reflect, to think or consider what has become of him. They turn one last corner, and a bright white glow strikes their eyes head-on.

Varian yelps, hands rising to his face, rubbing the spots from his eyes. He pulls back, curling in on himself to try and keep the light away. Slowly, once he has adjusted to the shine, Varian slowly pulls his hands down, glancing up uncertainly. The sight before his eyes finally registers.

Crystal—white crystal, translucent and glowing, sheer and polished—rises up all around them. The white stone is bright and shining, as reflective as a mirror, images of Rapunzel and Varian caught at every angle, multiplied by the dozen. The white glow is intense to his dark-adjusted eyes, like a moon or star blown up and brought right before him, a thousand times brighter up close.

It is not the creature, or the golem, or anything like that. The glow is from the labyrinth.

“Oh,” Rapunzel whispers, stepping forward into the light. Her eyes are wide. In this sudden shock of light, she is cast into sharp illumination—the shadows under her eyes, her drawn features, the smear of blood and dirt on one cheek. Her hair is loose and wavy from dust and lack of wash, and when her hands flutter up to cover her mouth, he can see the ugly bruises on her palms, dark blue and purple splotches crawling up her skin.

“Oh,” Rapunzel says, sounding distant, “it’s _beautiful_.”

It is, in a way, but that just makes it worse. A place like this, a situation like this one, and it has the nerve to be beautiful?

Still, despite this, Varian cannot help but be enchanted by it. He steps into the crystal hall, awed by the sight, and turns on his heel, looking up at the shining and mirror-like walls. He looks beside him, straight into the mirror, and the face that stares back—

Dark skin, white hair, eyes wide open and yellow as a moon.

_That isn’t his face._

The sight is so shocking—so uncomfortably similar to his fever dream from a few rests ago—that Varian flinches bodily at the sight. His breath catches, and he goes reeling, and too late he realizes that this might not be the best course of action.

His unstable footing and injured leg combine to send him toppling. He falls on his back, scrambling away, coughing at the sudden lack of air. His head snaps back to the reflection, but this time all he can see is himself, his own dirty and drawn face, his own fear.

No strange woman, no Rapunzel. Just Varian.

Rapunzel drops by his side, eyes gone wide with alarm. “Varian! What happened?”

Her concern jolts him out of his daze, but it brings with it the bite of growing anger. She keeps doing this, Varian thinks, feeling dizzy. She keeps standing in front of him, giving him food, offering kind words as if he is a friend rather an enemy, as if she cares. It makes him sick with confusion; it makes him furious.

His head spins, and for a moment he forgets their truce, forgets that he needs her. For a moment all he can feel is fear.

“Go away,” Varian tells her, but Rapunzel ignores him. Her eyes are on his feet, wide and worried. “Go away, I just fell, i-it’s—it’s nothing.”

Rapunzel is no longer listening. “Varian,” she says again, sounding stunned. “What happened—your feet!”

He doesn’t want to look. Feeling it is bad enough. The many hours of running on the rough ground, the cold earth tearing at his bare feet… Varian forces a laugh, and very deliberately doesn’t follow her gaze. “That’s what happens when you walk miles and miles with no shoes on rough terrain, _Princess_.”

“But I’m…” She looks down at her own feet—whole, unbruised, unbloodied. She looks back at him. “I didn’t…”

Varian shakes his head, feeling dizzy. Her honest confusion and dismay just make him feel worse. Reality returns in pieces—that’s right, the truce. He has to be nice to her. “You don’t wear shoes,” he mumbles back. “ _Your_ soles are probably like leather boots.”

A thought occurs to him, and he giggles, weak and nigh hysterical. “Oh, wow. Shoes would hurt, then, wouldn’t they?”

“I—they do, yes,” Rapunzel admits, but it’s said as an afterthought. She is staring at his feet again, then at his leg, then his ear. Her brows are knotted, lip caught between her teeth. “Your bandages—your leg, and now your feet… I should have noticed, I should have—back at that house…”

 _You should have,_ Varian thinks spitefully, but then he sees the bruises running up and down her swollen hands and feels drained. He hadn’t noticed her wounds, either.

These thoughts make his anger cool. He closes his eyes and slumps against the wall. “Doesn’t matter.”

Rapunzel presses her lips into a thin line at this. “That’s… Okay,” she says finally. “Okay. I can—” She bites her lower lip hard, uncertain, then tugs at the hem of her dress. She stares down at the fabric, then tightens her jaw.

The sound of tearing cloth echoes in the mirrored hall. Varian sits up straight at the sound, staring, hardly daring to believe his eyes.  Rapunzel ignores his incredulity—she is focused instead on her dress, tearing the long skirt into strips of cloth.

“What—what are you _doing_?”

“I don’t have bandages,” Rapunzel says, a note of apology in her voice. “Or—or water, or anything, but—you can’t keep getting dirt in those wounds. The hem’s dirty, but…” She takes another tear from her dress. “There. That’s cleaner.” She takes the foot of his injured leg, and begins to wrap the cloth lengthwise around his bloody sole.

 The moment he understands what is happening, Varian tries to yank his foot out of her hold.

“Stop it! Leave me alone!”

“You need a bandage,” Rapunzel argues back, not backing down. Her eyes are flinty, her jaw clenched tight. “You can’t walk right as is, and just leaving it will make things worse! You want to escape too, don’t you? Then you need to be able to walk.”

It’s a logical argument, an understandable one, and for some reason that pisses him off even more. He reaches out and pushes her away, trying to pry her hand from his ankle. “I don’t care!”

Rapunzel’s face shudders, expression going blank, before suddenly her hands tighten into fists, and she pulls herself up straight. “Fine. Neither do I, then! But I’m going to bandage your feet, Varian, and I’m going to change the bandages on your leg, and you can’t stop me. You can’t afford to.”

“I told you—”

“ _I_ _don’t care_ ,” Rapunzel bites back, and grabs at his ankle, tugging his leg to her without thinking. The motion pulls at his injury, and Varian goes silent at the shock of pain, breath catching as he bites down on a cry.

Rapunzel doesn’t notice. She is grit-toothed and teary from anger, wrapping the dress scraps around his injured soles with deft hands. Within minutes both feet are bandaged in the cloth.

His anger simmers, but Varian keeps quiet, well aware that when it comes to strength, he cannot beat her. If he fights her he will only hurt himself more, and it burns at his pride, stokes his rage.

If Rapunzel notices his animosity, she makes no sign of it. She is absorbed entirely in her task, easing bloodied bandages off his shin. The once white cloth is black and brown from dried blood and dirt, filthy and stiff, and it comes off painfully, peeled from his skin.

It hurts, but even in anger, Varian can’t deny the relief when the uncomfortable pressure against his raw wound is gone.

Under the bandages, his leg is a terrible sight. The leg is puffy and swollen, the skin around his wound red and angry. The long gashes where the arrow has cut into his skin are bleeding sluggishly, his veins around the gash dark and prominent, almost purple in color.

Rapunzel stares down at the wound, her eyes wide, anger blown out. Her mouth opens and then closes, color draining from her face. For a moment she holds herself very still, hardly daring to breathe.

Then she shakes her head, hair flaring out, and forces a smile. “That’s… I’m sure it’s fine,” she says to Varian, but her voice is weak.

Varian doesn’t answer her. He stares down at his ruined leg, a pit slowly growing in his stomach, a hollow digging into his chest. _That’s my leg,_ Varian thinks, and feels ill. It doesn’t look like his leg. It looks—bad. Really bad.

He’s almost grateful when she finally rewraps it, hiding the angry wounds from view once more. The dress fabric scratches, irritating against his skin, but it is kinder than the blood-stiff bandages were.

Varian doesn’t thank her. He doesn’t insult her again, either.

Rapunzel deliberates over his ear, but must decide to leave it be, because she doesn’t change the bandages there. She checks his head and the bandage for blood, and it must be in better shape than his leg, because at last she rocks back on her heels and then stands, moving away from him.

Rapunzel sits back against the wall, across and away from Varian, saying nothing the whole while. Her dress has been torn up to her knees, her black riding tights poking out from under the torn hems. She leans against the wall and closes her eyes, looking exhausted.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t ask if he’s alright, if they should keep moving. Nothing. She’s just… tired, distant, and Varian remembers her furious and pale expression back when she’d broke down in the cave and realizes, with a sudden uncomfortable pinch in his gut, that she probably hates him after all.

And, well. Who cares? Varian had never asked her to care about him, and she probably never has, not truly, and yet—it infuriates him, that she is still here, even then.

Even after that breakdown in the caves, she is still pretending everything is fine. Still pretending she cares, that she doesn’t hate him, still pretending to be the good guy, and it _burns._

All at once, he is suddenly sick of it. He is sick of keeping quiet, of being tired, of acting civil when her words from the cave are still clawing at his mind.

He is sick of being lied to.

“You should stop.”

Rapunzel doesn’t respond. Her eyes are closed, head resting against the reflective crystal. Her hair pools over her shoulders and puddles in piles on the cold earth.

“You should _stop,_ ” Varian snarls, almost a shout, and his words echo in the chamber, reverberating around them, shrill and desperate.

Rapunzel’s mouth twists, eyes shut tight. She bites down hard on her lip like she’s trying to keep it from trembling, and when she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse, thin and tired, strangled in her throat. “Stop what, Varian?”

“Pretending.”

Her brows furrow, and her eyes open at last. Her expression is unwilling, braced for impact. “…What?”

“I said—”

“I heard you,” she says quietly. Her arms wrap tight around her, fingers digging into her sleeves. “I… I just don’t understand. Pretending? Pretending _what?_ ”

His heart tightens. “You know what I mean!”

“No, I don’t,” Rapunzel returns, emotion finally bleeding into her words. Her lip trembles, her voice tight. “Why do you always assume I— I never know what you mean, Varian! You say I’m pretending, you say I’m wrong, even—” She waves a hand, as if to encompass something, her eyes wild. “That it’s my fault! I never know what you mean by it, Varian, you don’t tell me!”

 “You don’t know— _how_ could you not know?” Varian bites out, the words striking a painful chord with him. “You know exactly—it’s you! It’s all you! It’s your fault!”

Rapunzel’s breath shudders out of her. Something dark and hateful crosses over her face, and then it fades, and she turns her head away from him with a snap, closing her eyes. “No.  _No,_ we are—we aren’t doing this here. Not now.”

“Why not?” Varian cries out, desperate and furious and suddenly afraid. He leans forward, breathing ragged. For all his hesitation and tongue-tied silence only a few hours ago, now his bitter words come soaring, endlessly preferable to the relentless bite of fear. “Why not now? It’s not like we have much time left!”

“Varian—”

“Stop  _denying_  it! I know—you know—we _both_  know those things are probably just after you!”

Rapunzel closes her eyes. “Why do you always do this!” she says, and she sounds close to tears again. “Why do we have to do this  _now,_  Varian!?”

“It’s your fault,” Varian says. He feels dizzy and light-headed, distant from himself, half-way to hysterics, half-way to tears. Desperation wells up in him like the tide, one last shot, one last attempt. His hold on his conviction is slipping, his surety waning, and perhaps that’s what this is really about—one last fight to try and hold onto the beliefs that have carried him this far, for the mantra that has kept him sane and kept the grief at bay. “You can’t keep denying it! I won’t let you!”

( _Help me,_ something in him begs. _Prove me right. Please, I don’t want to be wrong._ )

 “Fine,” Rapunzel snaps, her voice breaking, and she whirls on him. Her eyes shine in the white light, and she looks half-way to a breakdown herself, but not a single tear falls down her cheek. “Fine, okay, I give up. Let’s it do it your way, then.” Her voice shakes, but her fury, her frustration, her cold stare—that never falters. “How is this my fault, Varian?” 

The relief he feels at her anger is dizzying. “How else! Who else could be at fault, _Rapunzel?_ Those things are after you! The rocks, everything, that’s all because of you!”

“No,” Rapunzel says shortly, her voice firm. “No, that’s not what this is about. You’d said that before, Varian, long before we got trapped in here. That’s not what you’re accusing me of.”

Her control, her poise, her unbroken stance—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, and Varian scrambles to regain purchase on the conversation, his head spinning, his injured ear beating at his mind like a drum. “No! Yes! That—that _is_ what this is about!”

“Is it really?” Rapunzel retorts. Her stare never falters, her voice cool with certainty.

“ _Yes!”_ Varian cries, struggling to keep pace with her. Something ugly roils in his gut, makes his breath tight. Even as he speaks, some part of him falters, pulls back, whispers  _stop stop stop,_ the memory of Ruddiger’s teeth sinking into his ear replaying over and over in his head.  _Remember what happened last time. “_ Stop, stop it! Stop  _denying it—”_

 _“_ Denying what!” Rapunzel snaps, glaring at him. Her voice is bitter. “What am I denying, Varian? What am I at fault for now!?”

“The amber!” Varian shrieks, without thinking, and the moment the words are said he nearly chokes. He hadn’t meant—he hadn’t—that hadn’t been what he was thinking of, but now that words have been said, he can’t take them back. “My dad, my town, the—the a-amber, that was all—”

“You,” Rapunzel says, something strange in her voice, and Varian flinches back. _Dad, please, no…_ “That was you.”

“No! No, it wasn’t! You were the one—” His breath catches, mind stalling, and he grits his teeth, swallowing down a sob. The words finally come. “Y-you, you forced my hand, you made me do it, it wouldn’t have happened if—”

“Varian, I _saw_ you!” Rapunzel cries. “I saw you create the potion! I saw what you did with it! I never asked you for that, I never asked you to try and do what—whatever it was you were doing, Varian, I only ever asked you to keep the black rocks a secret!”

That strange something is still there, echoing through her every word. What is it? What is that emotion? He doesn’t know, but he has to figure it out, it’s _important_ —

Pity, Varian realizes suddenly, and his heart drops. It’s pity.

He hates it. He hates it and her so intently that for a moment he can’t even breathe. “Stop _lying!”_

“Lying!” Rapunzel says, and the pity falls from her voice— _Thank god,_ some part of him whispers, _thank god._ This time she truly does sound angry, fury lacing every word. “I’m the liar? Varian, I’m telling you the truth!”

“You made me do it! My dad, the amber… all that, everything I did, it could have all been avoided if you—”

“I didn’t make you do _anything!”_ Rapunzel shouts, her hands snapping out, voice rising up over him. “I didn’t create the potion! I didn’t make you steal the flower! I didn’t try to kill the queen, or Cass, or—any of it! That was you, Varian, that has always been you!”

He flushes, stuttering in his anger, trying to drag emotions into words. “I—they—”

“What, Varian, what are you trying to say? That they deserved it?”

“They did!” Varian shouts. His hands clench into fists, tears burning behind his eyes.

 “Cass deserved it?” Rapunzel snarls, suddenly advancing on him. “Those people on the square deserved it? My _mom_ deserved to _die?”_ She stops mid-motion, rocking back on her heels, her hands dragging through her hair. “My _mom!”_ Rapunzel shouts suddenly, sounding infuriated. “What did my mother ever do, Varian? Why did you decide to trap her in the amber? Why did you decide that she deserved to die? You didn’t have to do that!” 

He wavers, and then firms. “I wasn’t—she wasn’t—the amber wouldn’t have killed her!”

Rapunzel’s expression falls flat, face tight. “Oh, are you so sure about that?”

Varian stutters to a stop, his mind reeling. “What are you saying?”

“Did you really think the amber wasn’t going to kill her?” Rapunzel asks, and her voice is cold, her question brutal in its honesty. Two weeks ago, they had stood like this—face to face, dragging old wounds to the surface. Rapunzel had been apologetic, then; quiet and guilty and refusing to fight. That day had ended in blood and tears, and neither of them has been the same since.

Now, there is no such give. Now her anger burns freely, and so does her eyes, and her words, and the truths she finally feels deserving to ask. “Were you really thinking of that, Varian,” Rapunzel says, and even in anger, her voice is not cruel. Somehow that makes it worse. “Was that  _really_ your primary concern? Or,” and here her voice breaks, fury rising, bitterness coating every word, “does it only not count as  _murder_ when it’s _your_ family that’s hurt?”

Everything goes quiet. The room, Rapunzel, Varian. Even his thoughts, stormy and furious, desperate and screaming—in this instant, they still, go quiet and dead.

He feels like he’s been slapped. Varian rocks back against the stone, expression stunned. The sting of tears rolling down his cheeks makes him flinch.

Rapunzel’s eyes focus on his tears and she steps back, expression falling into dismay. “Oh,” she says, voice breaking. “Oh, I  _told you_ , I said not to do this now…”

She shakes her head, stepping away, then whirls on her heels and paces back and forth down the crystal hall. Her shoulders are raised almost to her ears, her hands are clenched tight.  “I told you! W-why, why are you always  _like this!_? Why do you keep picking fights!?”

Varian can’t answer. His mind is caught on a memory, his breath caught in his throat, his heart caught in his chest. Of course he thought the Queen would survive. Of course he did. The amber doesn’t kill—

Except.

Had he really?

“I don’t _understand_ you,” Rapunzel is saying, digging her fingers into her hair. “Why does this keep _happening?_ I—I’m tired! Aren’t you tired? So why are we still fighting? Why do you always—always!”

Varian has a hand clasped over his mouth, and he rocks against the stone. His skin is cold, his hands pale. His tears are hot, burning, painfully warm as they slide down his cheeks. Sobs hitch in his chest.

 “Do you feel better now?” Rapunzel demands, and in her bright eyes her own tears shine, held back by sheer force of will. “You win, I fell for it, I took the bait! You made me break, Varian! You made me cry! You made me angry!” Her voice cracks, thin and wavering, halfway to a sob. “Are you _happy_ now?”

Varian does not answer. He can’t. The silence is heavy, laden with all the things he can’t say, the things he doesn’t want to say, the words that no longer come easily. One last fight to convince himself, and he has lost. He lost his confidence, his curiosity, his strength—and now, with this, he thinks perhaps he has lost himself.

“Why are you doing this?” Rapunzel whispers, her eyes shining, her ruined voice shuddering, her bruised hands shaking. Her words beg him for a reason and Varian cannot answer her.

And in the silence that rests between, so faint he can barely hear it—a scraping sound, a quiet screech. The tortuous noise of rock against rock.

The realization comes slowly, sinking into his bones, stilling his heart. A hand tightens in his chest, steals his breath and his words, horror an unyielding grasp on his mind.

In their fighting, they had not heard it; in their desperation and their tears, they had not seen. Now it is too late, and it is not until they hear the scrape of stone against stone behind them that they realize.

They have lingered too long. They have slowed down too much. The golem has caught up to them, and they are in no shape to run.

-

Rapunzel cannot move.

A cold hand grips her spine, every hair on the back of her neck standing straight up. A scream, her voice, even her breath—they all lock in her throat, stopped cold by terror. She stares into the gloom, sees two glowing blue eyes staring back, and couldn’t move even if she had the mind for it.

Even though this is a scenario she has dreaded for the better part of this whole awful endeavor, some small part of her had still not quite believed it. A part she had thought withered in the cave, when she’d finally given up, a part of her that had risen back to life with joyous clamor once the exit fell open. Even the labyrinth hadn’t dulled her faith. They were moving forward, there was a path, there was _hope._

Even with the golem at their heels, Rapunzel thought they could make it. Even with Varian’s leg looking as it does, even though they are hungry and sleepless and… even then. Even then, some part of her whispered, maybe they could still get out alive.

To hear that tell-tale screech, that awful scraping stone, is the same as hearing the final toll of a bell. It signifies the end of something, perhaps the beginning of another. The labyrinth is not done with them yet. Neither is the creature in the reflection.

What is the point of choosing her own path, Rapunzel wonders, if destiny will force its will on her regardless?

But then, perhaps that is the point. She has chosen to defy fate. To make her own choices, her own path… and she had known then, too, that the road would not be an easy one. 

For a moment, when that screech echoes out, Rapunzel cannot move. She has a second of stiff and frozen silence—an instant to grieve and to regret. An instant to find her resolve.

Then her instant is dead and gone, and Rapunzel does what she has done from the moment she left her tower, a year and two months ago. She stands tall, and she fights for a better ending.

Rapunzel whirls on her heels, staring down the corridor. She can’t see the golem in full, yet, but she can hear it, and its glowing eyes reveal its location to her. Around her, above her, surrounding her from all sides, the mirror-like crystal reflects back at her, dozens of her standing at once, a dozen surfaces mirroring back her bruised hands and pale face, the icy fear in her eyes.

The sight, strange and dizzying, makes her heart go cold. Then her resolve hardens, and she turns away, running to Varian’s side. Another fight, another argument—at this point, it is becoming the norm for them. It changes nothing, though. Not really. Even if he hates her—even if he doesn’t regret it—Rapunzel won’t leave him to die.

Still, it makes something within her wither and die to have to do this again, to kneel by his side so soon after they have once more verbally torn each other to pieces. She feels wrecked and worn, drained by her own anger. She doesn’t like getting angry. She doesn’t like shouting. It reminds her of things she’d much rather forget.

She hates that Varian can draw out that anger as he does. She hates how he picks fights; she hates how she always falls into the trap.

But that doesn’t matter here, and it doesn’t matter now, not with the golem coming for their heads. Rapunzel kneels by his side, gripping at his arm, knowing without having to ask that he isn’t well enough to move on his own. He is silent and shell-shocked, and all at once Rapunzel regrets her harsh words, no matter how much she’d meant them. Something she said—it must have struck true, because he doesn’t look all there, and she shakes him roughly, trying not to cry.

“Varian!”

He is staring down the hall, but at this, his eyes snap into focus, and suddenly he grasps at her hand, his fingers tight around her wrist. His face has gone pale. “It’s here? It’s—here, it’s here, I… I don’t know if I can…!”

“Varian, we have to go!”

His voice is thin, soft, lost and childlike in its terror. “I, I don’t…”

Varian doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. He has been limping for ages, and in this bright and mirrored place, it’s hard to tell what is a road and what is simply a reflection. There is no visible path, no easy way out, and now they can’t even run.

Rapunzel bites the inside of her cheek so hard she can taste blood. Her eyes burn. She grips Varian’s hand and squeezes his fingers in a cold comfort, the touch grounding her. This once, the words come easily to her. “It’s going to be okay.”

It is not a promise, not quite, but the assurance drains what little color remains in Varian’s face. His hold tightens around her wrist, near bruising force, and something bright and dangerous starts to spark in his pale eyes. “I can’t run!”

“Yes, you can,” Rapunzel says forcefully, with cold finality, and yanks him onto his feet with one sharp tug. She steadies him when he falters, and after a brief hesitation, she slings his arm over her shoulder, pulling him with her. “It’s going to be _fine._ We’re going to be okay! Just, come on, walk with me—we have to go—”

His expression had gone distant at this, but at these words something strange casts over Varian’s face, and abruptly he pushes her away. “No!”

Rapunzel’s heart stops, and she grapples with him desperately. She can see the golem, now—closing in, entering the crystal corridor of the labyrinth. “Varian, don’t—!”

His eyes are wide, face pale. He doesn’t seem to be all there. “No, it’s not—I can’t run, stop _pretending,_ just leave behind already! I know you want to! Why, why are you still _here?_ ”

“This isn’t the time for this!” Rapunzel shouts back, struggling to keep him upright. Already the screech has grown louder, echoing in her ears. A loping figure limps down the crystal hallway, body shining blue-and-white in the glow, eyes burning an unearthly blue. A broken puppet. An unstoppable force. “We can’t—”

She never gets the chance to finish.

The golem drags its stone fingers along the wall, tearing up crystal as if it is nothing more than soft cheese, flinging the shards at them with one casual swipe of its misshapen arm. Rapunzel grabs Varian’s wrist, hands knocking against the iron of his handcuff, and pulls him in front of her. She leans over him, hands keeping him upright when he drops, her hair covering them both. Even through her makeshift shield, the shards sting. “We have to run! We have to try!”

Varian wavers on his feet, lips bloodless, eyes blank and wide. He’s not listening, he’s not here, not really—he is sick, and hurt, and injured. Too drained to stay focused, even in a time like this.

And Varian is right, despite his random spikes of temper, despite his fury. They can’t run. They don’t even know where to _go._ How can she break him out of a panic that she herself can’t shake?

Rapunzel hauls him forward regardless, dragging the both of them down deeper into the crystal hall. The bright white glow and mirrored reflections of herself, flashing in and out of the corner of her eyes—they make her head spin, make it hard to tell where she is going or even which golem closing in at her heels is the real one.

They are advancing, they are ahead, and yet—

It is not enough.

The halls in front of them are bright and shining and impossible to tell apart. The crystal light blinds her eyes to any exits, turns any secret door invisible. They aren’t fast enough, Rapunzel isn’t strong enough—she looks behind her shoulder and every time the golem is a little bit closer than before, inching ever nearer.

The realization hits her like a bucket of icy water. They aren’t going to make it.

Rapunzel turns to Varian. He’s already staring at her, tight-lipped and expression cold. Not quite awake, not quite willing, but—aware again. Aware enough.

She tries to ignore the strange fragility in his eyes, the shattered cast to his empty expression. She has the strange and sinking sense that they are both breaking here. The labyrinth is killing them both, just in different ways.

“New plan,” Rapunzel says. It is hard to speak, hard to think. Fear is an icy grip down her spine. She doesn’t know what to do, she doesn’t know how they can win, how they can escape—but since when has that ever stopped her before?

Even if they can’t win, the least Rapunzel can do is try.

“Do you remember when we fought that automaton in the tunnels?”

The memory is a strange one. A good memory, at the time. Bitter, now, with what followed it. There is a strange look on Varian’s face at the reminder, and she suspects it is mirrored on her own—but he nods, and pulls away to head to the opposite side without complaint.

There is something suspect in his expression, then. A distrust she doesn’t understand, resignation to some strange inevitable. She cannot understand the look on his face, but then, she cannot even understand _him,_ and now is not the time to start.

Rapunzel drags her fingers through her hair, gritting her teeth at the tangles she finds. Her hair is usually remarkably resistant to any bad knotting, but these past few days have tested all of her limits.

It will work well enough.

She wraps a good chunk of it around her palm and draws back her arm, snapping out golden strands like a whip. She braces herself for the pain—when the end of her hair cracks against the golem’s stone face, the burst of light sends her reeling, but she keeps her feet.

The golem’s head snaps to the side at the hit, shining sheer white. For a moment it sways, unsteady on its feet at the blow. But then its neck cracks back into position, and it continues on as if nothing has happened.

Rapunzel whips her hair at it again, to no avail. She grits her teeth against the stabbing pain, tasting blood. Her head pounds with a growing ache. She drags her fingers through the strands and sets her feet.

 Her next strike wraps around the golem’s makeshift leg.

The pain is immediate, and this time, constant. Fireworks set off in her mind, burning, searing, stabbing. Rapunzel gives a strangled scream through grinding teeth and yanks hard at her hair with everything she has.

The golem goes crashing down in a clatter of stone.

Rapunzel holds her breath, panting heavily as the agony fades to duller ache. She pulls her hair back in by her side, desperate to stop it from touching the golem. She stares at the golem’s fallen form with blood-shot eyes, hoping against hope that this will be the end of it—

The golem gets up, slowly but surely, and she just barely bites back a sob.

Rapunzel stumbles back on autopilot, half-way to hyperventilating, the world a blinding swirl of color and vague form to her dizzy eyes. She tugs hard at her hair, pulling at the roots, biting down so hard on her lower lip that the dead skin breaks, the copper tang of blood flooding her mouth. Okay, okay. So that didn’t work. Then—

The golem advances, and her thoughts white out in a blank terror. Rapunzel steps back without thinking, back to a wall, and her heel hits empty air.

Rapunzel freezes, daring to glance back. It _looks_ like a mirror—looks like one of the walls—and yet…

She waves her hand behind her, hitting not crystal but empty air, and feels a cautious hope bubble up in her gut. _It’s a path!_

A path, behind her… she can run. She can run, and the creature will follow, and Varian…

He’ll be safer if she’s not here. Perhaps he is right—they don’t both need to be in danger. She can lead the golem away from him, give him the rest he so desperately needs, and Rapunzel… surely, she can stay ahead. No matter how afraid she is to do this alone—she can. She _can._

Her resolve strengthens. Rapunzel turns to face the golem.

She doesn’t know what will happen, after this. She doesn’t know if she has the strength to make it. She doesn’t even know if this path is the right one— there is a high chance that it is a dead end, a death sentence.

But she has to try, and she refuses to fail. In this labyrinth, in this dead and lifeless place, that is all Rapunzel has. No friends, no food, no hope of rescue. But she has her resolve, and she has heart.

It will have to be enough.

“Hey!” Rapunzel shouts, stamping one bare foot in the dirt, waving her hands above her head. She has no idea if the golem can actually see her, but well—those eyes must be there for a reason, right? “Hey, you! Rocky! Come over here so I—I can send you back to the pebble pile you crawled out of!”

The golem keeps moving. Rapunzel waves her hands wildly, stepping back into the hollow of the path. “Hey! _You!_ ” Nothing, no reaction. Why is it ignoring her? Why isn’t it rising to the bait?

A thought strikes her. Rapunzel curls her hands into loose fists, taking in a deep breath. This word she doesn’t shout—she shrieks it, her voice shrill and demanding, her cry bouncing off the crystal walls.

“ _MOON!”_

Her scream bounces off the walls, echoes back at her. The golem stops in its tracks. The room goes silent.

With an aching slowness and a rising screech, the golem’s head tilts in her direction, its blank and featureless face turned to Rapunzel. The blue light of its eyes is gone. For this one instant, its eyes shine a pale yellow-white, as bright as the full moon on a clear night.

As quick as it came, the white fades, replaced once more with burning blue. The golem’s sword rises, head slanting unnaturally to the side. It lurches forward like a broken puppet, limbs shaking, much faster than before and all the more unsteady because of it.

Rapunzel’s blood runs cold. She steps back again, ready to run.

And then—the unthinkable. The golem turns away.

It turns towards Varian.

Varian goes white in the face, mouth opening in a faint gasp. His eyes are bright and painfully blue in his colorless face, shadows under his eyes as dark as a bruise. “W-what?”

The golem does not answer. It drags itself another step, stone screeching as its arm spins, revolving in its shoulder socket. The blade snaps and twists to point forward, right at Varian, and then, perhaps that is answer enough.

“No,” Varian whispers. “N-no, no, wait—!"

The golem steps forward, and Varian falls back. His leg buckles, and he drops, back slamming against the crystal wall. He collapses against the wall, propped up by his elbows, useless leg stretched out in front of him. There is no secret path to save him, nowhere he could run even if he had the strength to do so.

Varian is trapped, and the golem is heading straight for him.

Rapunzel sees the sword rise and understands what has happened all at once. For a moment she can almost see it, the future playing out like a phantom before her eyes. The golem will kill him. It will run Varian through and leave him to die here, cast his small and broken body on the ground to rot without a second thought. All because Rapunzel dragged him with her, all because she assumed _she_ was the one they wanted, that she was the target—but it had never been her at all—

_Hello, dear Sundrop._

The creature had never been aiming to kill _Rapunzel_.

(Why are you still here, Varian had asked. Why haven’t you left me behind? Left unspoken behind his eyes: I would have left you.

But that is not who Rapunzel is.)

 _“No!”_ Rapunzel cries, and races forward, her mind gone blank with panic. Varian falls back against the wall, looking stunned, hands raised up in a fruitless attempt at defense. The bright glow of the crystal walls reflects in his wide eyes, casts deep shadows along his thin face. The mirrors reflect his fear tenfold.

Rapunzel won’t get there in time. She is too late. The golem is between her and Varian, and she can’t stop it, she isn’t fast enough, it is already going for the blow—

The sword falls, and Rapunzel seizes the blade with both hands.

Pain sears across her palms, the sword’s sharp edges biting into her soft flesh. The shining blade slides through her hands, slick with her blood. It shines dark and red on the glowing black stone, coats her delicate hands and drips on the dusty earth. The tip of the deadly weapon pricks at Varian’s shock-still chest.

Rapunzel doesn’t retreat. She tightens her grip despite the agony, and tries desperately to wrestle the golem back. The blade strains to break free of her tenacious grip, mere millimeters away from running Varian through.

“ _Stop!”_ Rapunzel shrieks, and her feet dig into the dirt, bloody fingers holding tight to the sword. On the dark blade, her blood glimmers gold.

Light bursts forth.

The world, for one terrifying second, burns as bright as the sun. Rapunzel drops to the ground, her hands shrieking in agony, eyes blinded by the glare. Warmth blasts her face, dries her skin, blows like a warm wind through her hair.

Rapunzel doubles over, her useless hands hovering before her blinded eyes, teeth clenched against a scream. When the spots finally fade, she snaps up her head.

The light has gone, and the golem—it has been pushed back, fallen down to one knee. For the first time, it looks truly injured. Deep cracks run along its makeshift face, its sword blown off completely, leaving behind a jagged mess of broken rock. It looks wounded, in the only way a golem can—broken, breaking, shattered by a mighty blow.

Rapunzel pushes herself up on her knees. Her head aches, her eyes heavy with sudden exhaustion. Her head is pounding like a drum, her mouth dry and aching, every nerve tight and spasming with pain. She leans over the ground and coughs hard, tasting blood in the back of her throat.

She holds onto consciousness by sheer force of will. She can’t pass out, she can’t, not until she knows for sure…

She watches through eyes blurring with tears, just in time to see the golem climb up to its feet once again.

It is up. Broken and crumbling, yes, but whatever Rapunzel did, it wasn’t enough. The golem is still moving—still moving towards Varian, as if Rapunzel is no more than an afterthought. Unfaltering, unwavering. It feels no pain, and no amount of light can beat it back.

But it had seen her and then ignored her, it had turned away from her—the creature in the reflection, that quiet smile— _Hello, dear Sundrop—_

The Moon is not trying to kill her.

It is not so much a plan as it is a wish, a desperate hope, a gamble Rapunzel cannot afford to lose. It is supported only by stories, a smile, and a strange and twisted dream, a whispered notion of _she needs me alive_ —

There is nothing left for Rapunzel to do but act, and pray she hasn’t chosen wrong.

Rapunzel braces her bruised and bleeding hands on the ground, pushing herself to her feet. She stands tall on shaking legs, trying not to collapse, the world spinning into a pale blur before her dizzy eyes. She grits her teeth and steps forward unsteadily, moving in front of golem’s path.

She stands between the golem and Varian, feet braced and head held tall like the ruler she will one day be. Blood drips off her bruised and broken hands, dirt and dust smeared on her pale and sleepless face. She must look like a fright, and yet, she has never felt more like a Queen.

The golem advances, and Rapunzel stands her ground.

Behind her, Varian’s voice is thin with fear and a terrible, heartbreaking confusion. “W-what are you—what are you _doing?”_

There is no time to respond, no words with which she can explain it. In the end, the answer is simple, even if everything else is not. Rapunzel can’t leave Varian to die. She can’t leave him behind. Not because he is her friend, or because he can be redeemed, or because she owes him. Not really.

Rapunzel stands between the golem and Varian because even with all Varian has done, even after everything—he doesn’t deserve to die, and Rapunzel will not fail him again.

The golem doesn’t stop at her intrusion. If her presence dissuades its attack, then it shows no sign. It lurches ever closer, towering over her small form. Its one remaining arm rises up and twists in the air, deadly fingers clacking against one another, ready to swing.

 Rapunzel isn’t cowed by the threat. Her stance firms, bare toes digging into the dirt. Her shoulders draw back, her spine going straight. She tilts up her chin and glares down at the golem—and the creature, the being, the _Moon_ she knows is looking back.

If Varian is to die here, then the golem will need to kill Rapunzel first.

“That’s _enough_ ,” Rapunzel snarls, and braces herself.

The golem’s arm swings back, building momentum. The dark blade shines in the crystal hall’s unwavering white light. The blade hangs in the air, suspended in the sky, held still and steady for only a moment.

The moment ends, and the sword swings for her head.

Rapunzel sees the blade as if in slow motion. It will run her through the throat. She will die impaled on its hand, and her loved ones will never know what became of her. If she doesn’t move, if she doesn’t react, the golem will kill her without hesitation.

But it will kill Varian instead, if she falters, and Rapunzel could never live with herself if she left him to die.

She meets the golem’s inhuman blue eyes, and she stays.

The walls burst into white light.

Black rock erupts through the crystal. It breaks through the mirrored white stone as if it is nothing more than soft butter, the many spires interlocking into a wall right in front of Rapunzel, mere inches from her nose. The rocks catch the blade of the golem right before it runs her through, and then they grow, expanding, lengthening. A new wall, a divide between them and the golem, buying her time to run.

Behind them, the crystal wall crumbles into a fine diamond dust, a new path leading back into the dark gloom of the stone labyrinth.

For a single instant, in that shining black stone, the barrier that had burst up to save her—Rapunzel does not see her reflection. In that shining stone, it is not her own face that she sees, nor that of the golem’s, not even the creature.

In that glowing rock, a woman stares back at her. Her skin is as dark as the black rocks, her hair glowing white-blue and flowing around her face like ink dropped in water, floating in some invisible breeze. Freckles speckle her black skin like stars in a night sky, constellations sprawling across her tall form. Her eyes are wide and lovely, dark blue sclera contrasting irises as yellow-white as a full summer moon.

She is beautiful, terribly beautiful, and she is also unfathomably furious. Her lips peel back from bright white teeth, curling into a vicious snarl. Her hands are clenched into deadly fists. Her hair wisps around her face like a cobra frill. She is the picture of beauty and grace, and her temper burns as low and as furious as a thunderstorm.

**_This once, and never again._ **

**_Remember this, child. You do not want_ ** **me _for an enemy._**

Rapunzel blinks, and in the next instant, the woman—the _Moon_ has vanished, and all the light in the rocks with her. The dark stone glows a dull blue at her proximity, and in that pale glow, it is just Rapunzel, staring with wide eyes at her own reflection.

She lingers there, caught in the grip of her terror for only a moment. Then the words register, and Rapunzel whirls away from the wall. She grabs Varian’s arm and slings him up on her back, stumbling and then firming her hold on him, carrying his slight weight with ease. She catches her footing and then Rapunzel runs, her hair streaming behind her like a banner.

She runs as she has never run before. She runs so fast that breathing is an afterthought, her bare feet slamming against the dirt. The world flickers past her blurred vision so rapidly she can hardly see it.

She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t look back.

The only way left to go is forward, and Rapunzel is running for their lives. There is no more turning back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, confession time: I was totally planning on impaling the boy. I chickened out last second though; too much angst even for me! So…. infection and sliced up hands instead!! Woo, aren’t they lucky? (I am so so sorry; I swear things will get better soon…!!) 
> 
> This chapter dragged on far longer than I meant it too, but, well…. I didn’t want to cut it down. Small moments mean just as much in the grand scheme of things. This chapter was building to the final fight, the final struggle, and all the events in this chapter—their fight, the house & honey, the ending and what their actions imply—its all important, it all has an effect. Last chapter sowed the seeds of doubt for Varian, and this was the chapter that _proved_ his suspicions, that forcibly made him see the truth. So, yeah. Long chapter, but, I hope it was entertaining!! (Also, regarding the house scene: fun fact! Apparently honey is immortal, and also, is actually really good for fighting infections. Honey is a godsend, basically. Or, in this case—a very lucky break for our two protags.)
> 
> There’s a song someone recommended to me for Varian here; “Liar” by Arcadian Wild— it really inspired a huge chunk of this later chapter. One lyric stood out in particular in influencing Varian— “I need you to see through my act / To tell me I’m wrong / To take off the mask.” Because that is essentially what Varian is doing here. His fighting is useless because he doesn't believe in it himself, his arguments dry and stale. He’s finally in the mind to hear the truth.... and Rapunzel is finally at the point where she’ll tell it to him. All the masks and lies are gone; the truth is clear to him. (Aaaaaaand it’s awful).
> 
> Concerning the amber, and whose “fault” it is…. The thing is, I don’t really see it as anyone’s fault. It’s an unlucky accident, it's a terrible and unforeseen consequence. In truth, no one is really to blame; everyone had a hand, in part, in the events that led up to it. Rapunzel views it the same way—at least, regarding Quirin’s situation. (When it comes to Queen Arianna, yeah, I feel she’d blame Varian for that. THAT incident with the amber was absolutely deliberate, and why she’s so angry that he blames the amber on her). The thing is though, while Rapunzel and the audience see Quirin’s death as an accident… Varian _wants_ someone to blame. He can’t accept the fact it was an accident, that there is no-where to really push the blame and hurt. He wants someone to blame, and that’s where things get complicated, because out of all the people who had a hand in the amber accident, if someone had to be chosen to be “at fault”…? Well. It’s like the reflection said. Who else could possibly be blamed, if not for Varian? He had the biggest role in this tragedy out of anyone. (This doesn’t change the fact its an accident, but it does mean that Varian’s perception of who is at fault, so long as he looks for someone to blame, is always going to end up directed at himself).
> 
> Also, concerning updates!!! Now that school has started, updates are going to be fairly slow. I can’t say when the next update will be, but!! Know that I definitely plan on completing this fic before the new year, so hopefully the wait won’t be too long!! Please be patient with me until then, ahaha.
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/177604444882/title-labyrinths-of-the-heart-synopsis-plagued) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


	8. The Alchemist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAHHH ITS FINALLY FINISHED… yessssssssssss
> 
> Oh gosh, thank you guys _so much_ for being patient with me!!! I’m really so happy I finally get to post this chapter, ahaha. Your comments, kudos, support, and kind words honestly really pushed me to try and finish this chapter even with everything going at school. So just, really, thank you!! For enjoying this story, for your support, and just— for reading!! It really means so much ❤️
> 
> (Also!! Just want to say, I am also participating in Tangledtober and OC-tober this year, if you want to read more of my works. The OC-tober drabbles (can be found [here!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160414/chapters/37759631)) especially are tied with Labyrinths: they introduce/set-up characters and plot points that we’ll see in part two!!)
> 
>  **Warnings** for: panic attacks, aftermath of a major injury, (very brief) gruesome description of an infected injury, near-death situations, discussions of past child abuse and past canon character death, as well as death threats (via Moon and the Labyrinth). If there’s anything you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!
> 
> I’ve been waiting to write this chapter since the start of this story. This is the major shift, guys. The climax is close at hand. I am so, so overjoyed to finally be able to share this chapter with you all!! I hope it’s worth the wait, ahaha. With that said— enjoy!

 

Rapunzel runs for her life.

Her feet slam hard against the cold earth, dust grinding in her bare soles. The jolts run up her legs, tremble in muscles taut with tension. She runs as she has never run before, breathless and senseless. There is no thought to her escape, no mind to her path. How far she goes or how often she must double back is unknown to her. She is running in fits and bursts, in stuttering steps and mindless motion. She stumbles on through the dark, unable to see. She cannot stop, she cannot rest, she can’t even take a moment to reach out and touch the walls and bring light to her path. It takes everything she has just to keep moving, to start and stop and start again. 

The darkness is deep and void, frightening in its totality and yet comforting for the same reason. There is no blue glow of the golem’s eyes, no fearsome woman with shining hair and a furious face. Only the dark, and Varian, and Rapunzel. Alone but for the empty stone and dead ruins of a kingdom long since abandoned to the dust. 

Yet, though the darkness is a blessing, it is also a curse. In the absence of sight, every other sense has shifted to compensate, and her imagination runs wild with terror. With every step she fears crashing into a wall she cannot see, a new monster, or perhaps even the golem itself. She cannot see the walls or ceiling of this black stone labyrinth, and so they feel closer than ever before. She runs blindly through black halls and remembers her tower with every wavering step. 

She aches to have light. But even if Varian wasn’t on her back, Rapunzel still could not reach out to see. Her hands tingle and sting, throb in tune with her fluttering heart and pounding feet. They ache, they burn, they spasm in agony. She can feel the stiff tug of her blood, the slow ooze as her still-scabbing wounds slowly seal. She can’t move her fingers. She doesn’t know if this is because of pain or perhaps because of something much worse. 

Rapunzel tries not to think about it. 

On her back, Varian is still and silent, his weight so slight she could almost forget that she is carrying him at all. The protest she has half-expected has never come, but Rapunzel doesn’t have enough thought in her to dwell on this, either. Her mind is consumed by a blank and instinctual fear, a sense of flight so strong it drowns out all other worries.

In the back of her mind, she can still see her. The Moon’s wide eyes, her livid snarl. Her cold words, her warning delivered with all the gravitas of an oath.

 **_You do not want_ ** **me _for an enemy._**

The memory strikes Rapunzel like a physical blow. Wide yellow-white eyes flash in her memory, twin moons bright and vivid with an immortal fury. Rapunzel stumbles, her rhythm of steps faltering.

She tries to stop her fall too late to make a difference, Varian slipping on her back. The sharp inhale of his breath in her ear jolts her back into awareness, and Rapunzel tries to catch her feet, tightening her hold on Varian instinctually in a vain attempt to keep him from falling—

Her fingers close around his leg and the agony of her ruined hands strikes her anew, hot pain searing across her whole palm, up her arm and through her veins. The world whites out. Rapunzel hears herself scream.

She pitches to the side, her shoulder crashing against the wall. Blue flares out like a firework across the dark stone. Varian’s strangled cry pierces her ears, his arms slipping free from around her neck.

Rapunzel knocks into the wall and keeps falling, her shoulder scraping down the rock. She falls hard on her knees, the jolt shaking her bones, white-hot pain in her kneecaps. She can hear Varian fall, too; his short gasp of pain, the dull thud as he hits the ground. 

As quick as it struck them, the chaos of the moment ebbs. Rapunzel lies limp against the wall, hands open and fingers half-curled, her aching palms held close to her stomach. She is bent double over her knees. She bites her lip hard against a cry, whining through her teeth, swallowing back the sob that tries to crawl from her throat. She is shaking so hard that she thinks she might fall apart.

All at once, the rush of her sprint catches up to her. Rapunzel bows over her hands, kneeling on the ground. Her vision tunnels in on itself, her world going dark even though her eyes are open. She is wheezing desperately for air, breathless from running, but no matter how hard she tries she can’t get enough. She is drowning, some part of her thinks, driven by a wordless panic that grows louder and louder until it rings in her ears, mindless and all-consuming. She is dying here, this place is strangling her, she can’t breathe and so she must be drowning—

The realization hits her full force. Rapunzel had—she had nearly died. Varian and her both, they had nearly died. The blade, a hair’s breadth away her throat—the Moon’s furious moon-lit eyes—the rock, bursting up in new growth, those deadly clusters snapping out mere millimeters from her face— 

Rapunzel is not sure how long she stays in this state, whether it is seconds or minutes or even more than that. She cannot move, couldn’t even if she wished to, and she does not wish to. Her hands ache and her chest is tight, and she cannot breathe. She is drowning here, in this dark and hopeless place. Everything has finally caught up to her. She cannot outrun it. Rapunzel cannot stay aloft any longer.

The cave, the labyrinth, Varian, the golem, the Moon. It is, in this moment, too much for her.

She must cry, though the memory is faint and far away, the cold trickle of tears null and void compared to the sense that the world has ended. Rapunzel stoops over her ruined hands and cries like a child, great shuddering sobs and choked wails like she is dying. And maybe she is. Maybe this is what dying is like—darkness, inevitability, pain and an icy hand wrapping ever tighter around her throat.

Reality is slow to return to her. Eventually her hysteria and emotion drain out, run dry from sheer bone-deep exhaustion and the ever-present knowledge that if she stops here, then they both will die. Rapunzel becomes slowly aware of the uncomfortable press of the cold ground against her now exposed knees, the tingling growth of a bruise at her shoulder and the wall at her side, the glow creeping across her face. Her own gasping breaths and ragged sobs echo strangely in the cavern, distant to her own ears.

Around her huddled form, her hair coils and pools at her knees. No longer a stream of gold, no longer a shining banner. It is not beautiful, here; it hangs flat and heavy in this lifeless place, all the light and shine from within gone dull and tarnished. It’s just hair. It’s only ever been just hair. 

Just hair, and Rapunzel, she is just a girl. She’s a girl from a tower who has dressed up like a princess and pretended like a year outside is all she needs to be like everyone else. To pretend like her life still counts for something. But she isn’t a princess, or a Sundrop, or a fighter. She’s just herself. Just Rapunzel, only ever just Rapunzel, fighting now against a being with the power of a god.

 _I don’t want this,_ she thinks, and her breath tears on another sob. _I don’t want this, I don’t want to do this, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m_ tired _…_

A voice, soft and wavering with uncertainty, cuts through the fog of her thoughts.

“…Rapunzel?” 

She knows that voice. Her eyes are already closed, so she squeezes them tighter still, holding her breath. Then she exhales, and finally looks up.

Varian is across from her, in front of her, close enough to touch. Standing where she is kneeling, but he seems oddly small, hovering there above her, childlike and quiet. He leans against the wall, weight off his injured leg, arms crossed over his chest in a makeshift hug.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Rapunzel,” Varian says again, no longer a question. Yet, at her attention he almost seems to shrink back, smaller than before. His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, neutral and even-toned. He meets her eyes for only a second, and then his gaze falls to her bloodied hands and stays there. She can’t understand the look in his eyes, but then, perhaps that is because it is not really a look at all. Blank, empty, young. Lost, painfully lost, in a way that seems terribly final.

For one horrible moment, Rapunzel thinks that he is going to try and comfort her, and it stuns her how much she simply does not want that. She doesn’t want to be confused, or hurt, or angry, or any of the awful things Varian makes her feel. She doesn’t want to look at him. She doesn’t want to speak with him. She never wants to see him again.

Maybe her thoughts reflect on her face, in the curl of her injured fingers or in the tense line of her shoulders, because Varian does none of these things. Instead, after a long pause, he says, with his eyes on the earth, “I—I… I can walk. On my own.”

Rapunzel stares at him. The words don’t register. She doesn’t understand.

Varian’s face falls, a bit. His eyes are bright with something like tears, and she doesn’t understand why. “If—I don’t—if you can keep going.” His voice is very small. Even in this soundless place, she can barely hear him speak. “I can walk on my own. You don’t have to keep—” His expression shutters. He goes quiet.

She doesn’t answer, and his concluding statement falls awkward and hushed between them.

“If you can keep going.”

Understanding finally clicks into place. He is—testing her? Rapunzel isn’t sure. Only his question makes sense to her, even if she cannot grasp why he’s asking her this. Can you keep going. Will you keep going. Have you given up?

An awful thought occurs to her.

… _Can_ Rapunzel keep going?

For a brief and blinding moment, Rapunzel wants to say no. _No, I cannot keep going._ Leave me alone. I want to be alone. I want to rest. I am tired of running, and I cannot be afraid of dying when living like this is already killing me. 

She nearly does it. She almost says it. Rapunzel looks up into the face of this boy who was once her friend and then her enemy and now, even, perhaps a tormentor, no matter if he never meant to be. She looks up into his face and the words rise up on her tongue.

But he is looking back at her now, watching her, for the first time not in challenge but in something like shared grief, a hushed mourning. Her hands sting and Rapunzel remembers how she got these wounds. She remembers that shining blade slipping through her blood-slicked hands, and she remembers why she did it. She remembers who she saved.

Rapunzel has gambled with her life and won, and even if they are still in this labyrinth, they are both still alive. She has saved him. Varian is still here. So is she.

Neither of them is in this labyrinth alone.

With this realization, the rest of her mind begins to whir, thoughts clicking into place. She is not alone here, and neither is he. They have each other, and there is one other—there is the Moon, too. The Moon, furious and bright, hiding in the walls and just out of sight.

 _You do not want me for an enemy,_ Rapunzel remembers, and her aching fingers twist to curl into loose fists. What does that mean? What, were they _allies_ before? If Rapunzel isn’t an enemy, then what is she? Why is the Moon chasing them? What does she want? A creature in the walls, but the creature is a person, and people—people can be persuaded.

Is there a chance, still, that they can get out of this maze alive?

It is not an idea, or a plan, or even hope. It is only a thought, only the barest inkling of possibility. But it is enough. Rapunzel bites those hopeless and defeated words in her teeth and grinds them into dust, swallowing back the bitter taste of blood and bile. She levers her shoulder against the wall and pushes herself to her feet. 

“Yes,” Rapunzel says finally. Her voice is softer than she has ever heard it. Quiet, beaten, worn to a thin croak. But it is still there. She is still speaking. Her feet may ache and her hands may bleed but she is still here, and that must count for something.

“I can keep going,” Rapunzel says: to Varian, and to herself. A promise and an oath. “I can keep going.”

Varian doesn’t smile at her. He doesn’t respond. He just stares up at her, his face pale and washed out in the blue light. He looks lost. He looks tired. But maybe—and perhaps Rapunzel is simply imagining it—but he looks almost relieved, too.

No more words pass between them. This is not the time for questions or for answers. This is no time to wonder. They have been through an ordeal and the aftermath is quiet and broken. But they have both survived it—they are both still here—and there is time to wonder later. Even in this labyrinth, there is still time.

Rapunzel steps forward into the dark, and Varian follows at her heels. Silent, fragmented, not enemies and not allies either. But together all the same, and even that must still count for something.

-

Varian walks blindly into the dark. The ground is cold beneath his feet; the labyrinth passes by him like a mirage. He is walking. He has been walking for ages now.

His sense of time has been shot to pieces, and by now he no longer tries to guess how long they’ve been moving. The labyrinth has a way of muddling every sense. Even in the cave, he’d had some idea, some concept of how long they might have been trapped—but here even that is gone, the towering and eternal walls erasing any hint of the outside world. He feels as if he has stepped into another dimension entirely, a place utterly separate from the real world, a realm that exists with its own rules and on its own terms. The stone is stifling. The walls are watching them. The air is heavy and fraught with tension. 

At first, this had frightened him. Now, though, Varian is too tired to be afraid, too hurt to care, and too lost to feel angry about any of it. He is—he is not sure what he is. Moving on, maybe. It is all he can do. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but he also doesn’t know himself well enough either, right now, to have much of an opinion on this.

It is a struggle to walk, but he manages, and he keeps his mouth shut. It is not so hard, not really, not if he’s careful to keep his hand on the wall to take the weight off his bad leg. In this, the bandages from Rapunzel’s dress are a blessing. His bruised and torn feet ache with every step, but it is no longer agonizing.

Another thing Varian has to thank her for, and the thought sticks in his throat.

Despite himself, he glances up at her. Rapunzel is walking a few paces ahead of him, close enough to the wall that it glows, though the light is weak without contact. She doesn’t dare touch it, though. Her hands remain cradled close to her gut, folded over each other so she doesn’t knock them against the stone. Her shoulders are bowed, head lowered and hair dragging behind her. She is faltering, and yet, even then—she is still moving.

The sight of her, and the memory of she’d looked barely a half hour ago—it makes him shudder. Varian has seen her cry twice now, once in the cave and once here. But back then, in the cave, he thinks… he hadn’t realized what it meant, to see her crying, not truly. It had never occurred to him that she _could_ despair, could feel lost and hopeless same as him. For so long, Rapunzel has been untouchable.

Now, things are different. Now she is just like Varian.

She is human.

This time was different, and in a way, Varian is not sure why. Rapunzel had fallen, she had curled against the wall and she had cried. And Varian—Varian had looked down at her and understood. He had understood why she had broken here, understood why she had cried. He is not sure why this time was different, when the cave was not. Maybe it is that she has changed; more likely he thinks it is him who is the difference.

How long they have been here, Varian does not know. But he is not the same as he was when he entered, even that short time ago. He has changed. _Rapunzel_ has changed. They are both a little different, now; even if he cannot entirely place _how_ they are different, and nothing has ever been so frightening.

Perhaps this is a truth about labyrinths, Varian thinks to himself. Underground, a monster within, inescapable. And this, too. You can survive a labyrinth, or you can try to, but in the end the labyrinth will always win. You cannot walk through these halls and emerge the same as you once were. You cannot face your fears or your own morality and continue on as you always have. You can survive—but some part of you will die, and you will never be the same again.

Varian has changed, and he is not sure how, and he is still not entirely certain this change is a good thing. He no longer takes the lead. He speaks without thinking and finds his own words lashing back him. He is losing his train of thought, doubting his own intentions. He is quiet. He is uncertain. There is a lump in his throat and a strange ache in his chest, something he needs to say, something trapped under his tongue and behind his teeth.

He is not sure if this is important. He thinks it probably should be.

As they make their way through the dark halls, staggering slow and careful down winding corridors, Varian closes his eyes and breathes. Every step, a breath. Every movement forward, an exhale. He walks on to the loping and limping rhythm of the injured and desperate, and he keeps going.

Of course, the labyrinth is loath to make it easy for him. As they continue, more problems arise. His leg burns, his feet ache, his ear a ringing of pain and deafening nothingness. Worst of all, the soft binding of the bandages starts to slip and drag off his leg. With every step the fabric itches and irritates at his wound, the silky cloth too soft to hold the knots. Varian ignores it best he can, right up until the bandage slips fully and catches under his foot, nearly sending him sprawling.

A hot pain stabs up his swollen leg, his elbow knocking hard against the wall and sending a painful jolt through his bones. Varian lurches upright with a sharp cry, biting down on the sound half-way, rocking back and forth on his good leg in a desperate attempt to keep his balance.

He just about topples, and then an arm reaches around and steadies him at the back, Rapunzel pressed shoulder to shoulder with him as she tries to keep him upright. Her jaw is clenched against her own pain, and for a moment they waver, both too weak to stand.

By some miracle, Rapunzel finds her footing, steadying them both. They stay still, waiting to see if it’s a trick—but when neither of them topples Rapunzel relaxes, and Varian exhales slowly in relief.

His adrenaline fades, and suddenly Varian is hyperaware of Rapunzel’s arm at his back. He stiffens and steps away, uncomfortable, mind flashing back to the crystal hall. He looks at her without thinking, and sees Rapunzel’s eyes on him. She stares back at him, startled, then looks away, closing her eyes as if in pain.

She’s quiet for a long time, and then she inhales deep and exhales loudly, her whole body sinking with the sound. His stomach twists, but then Varian realizes there is nothing exasperated in it—simply something tired, drawn and exhausted. The sick feeling ebbs. 

“Let’s rest.”

He swallows hard. The last time they had rested, however unplanned… mirrors and a golem, and Rapunzel, she had—

He carefully avoids looking at her hands, feeling weirdly wrong-footed, uncomfortable with her kindness. “We don’t have to stop,” he says. “I can keep going.”

Her expression is mild, unreadable to him. He can’t tell if she means what she says or if she is simply giving him an excuse, and he isn’t sure which bothers him more. “I’d like to rest.”

It is strange, the thought that rises at this— _Who gives a damn about what_ you  _want?_ His immediate thought, his immediate reaction, and if this had been a month ago or a week ago or even an hour ago, Varian would have said those words and so much worse.

The venom and instinctual nature of the reaction startles him, shames him. Varian closes his eyes and turns his face away, afraid that she might see those vicious thoughts in his expression.

“Okay,” he says, instead. “Fine.” He falls back against the wall and slides down to a sitting position before she can respond. The stone is unbearably cold at his back, his shirt not enough to keep out the unnatural chill.

At first, Varian is tense and jittery, fearful of stopping for rest after what happened last time—but the moment his feet stretch out and the change settles, rest and a deep desire for it falls heavy on his shoulders. Varian closes his eyes and swallows hard, relieved tears pricking at his eyes. He’s so  _tired._

A careful tug at his leg makes him look up. Rapunzel is kneeling by his side, picking gingerly at his loose bandages with her slashed-up hands. She pulls the loose bandage straight and then stops, staring at it; all at once Varian realizes the issue.

Her hands, bloody and torn, shadowed with blood in the dim lighting. She can’t use them like this. She can’t help.

He doesn’t call her out on it, just gently tugs his injured foot from her hold, drawing it by his side so he can retie the bandages on his own. It doesn’t take long. The silk cloth is soft in his fingers, but grittier now with dried blood and dirt. There is no alternative, though, and so Varian draws the silk strips tight around his wounds once more.

Through the dark silk, he can see flashes of the wounds beneath. Dark veins and swollen skin turning purple, the long gashes from the arrowhead crusted with yellow pus. Varian rewraps the bandages with numb fingers, and swallows back the bile in his throat. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. There is nothing he can do.

He ties the last knot and stares down at his injured leg for a long moment. He peeks up through his bangs at Rapunzel. She is staring down at her own hands, green eyes blank and distant.

Her hands look awful, Varian thinks, following her gaze. The golem’s blade had cut deep, and he cannot quite tell where the cuts even are, the whole of her palm stained red and horrid in the light. There are dark streaks of puddled blood where the wounds might be, long gorges that cut inward across her open palm and pale fingers.

“I—” Varian says, and chokes on the words, startled that he even spoke at all. He struggles for a long moment, fighting against some bizarre conflicting impulse.

Rapunzel’s head lifts, her eyes turning to him. She doesn’t say anything. She merely watches. 

Strangely, this makes it easier. It reminds Varian of the cave, of Rapunzel’s pseudo-breakdown, and reminds him most of all of that crystal cavern. Before the golem, before Rapunzel had— _before_ , before that. When he had fought her on the bandages and she had helped him regardless.

The words slip free.

“I—I can… y-your hands.” Varian arranges his legs so he can lean forward, and goes to grab Rapunzel’s wrist. She flinches, and he hesitates at the sight, feeling something in his heart drop. His voice wavers, growing small. He feels vaguely ill. “I, I can, um…”

Rapunzel looks at him levelly for a long moment. Her lips tremble and then firm, pressing into a thin line. Her eyes are almost cold.

“I don’t understand you,” she says at last, and her voice breaks half-way through, not from emotion but instead a bone-deep exhaustion. “I really, r-really don’t.”

And Varian—he doesn’t know what to say to that, but he wishes he did. He bites his lower lip and looks away, eyes darting to and fro but always drawing back to her.

In the end, his voice so soft he can barely hear the words himself, Varian admits, “I don’t, either.”

Rapunzel stares at him for a long time, long enough for Varian to feel near sick with nerves. A lump rises in his throat, a strange desire to speak, to take back the offer or perhaps even say something else. He feels like a wire, drawn taut and held in place by the tension, by the answer.

And then, at long last, Rapunzel’s eyes fall to the ground. Her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her.

Without another word, Rapunzel offers Varian her injured hand.

The relief he feels at this gesture is startling in its intensity, but he has no time to think on it. Still, Varian smiles, small and shaky, gutted by this show of trust. He has yelled at her, denied her, cursed her. He has given her nothing but trouble, and she still holds out her hand.

Varian shoves this feeling back down with all the others of its kind, but it’s harder than it usually is. He fiddles with the ends of his too-long tunic—Eugene’s borrowed shirt—and instead feels grateful for all the extra fabric he is practically swimming in.

Just as Rapunzel tore her dress to bandage his leg, now Varian tears at the hem of his shirt to bandage her hands. The fabric is soft and starched beneath his fingers, hard to hold and harder to tear, but after the first rip, the process gets easier. He gets long strips of the cloth, laying them out on his lap so he doesn’t lose track, and carefully starts the process of wrapping her hands.

The deed is done in silence, but for the first time, as he works, Varian finds it isn’t as oppressive as usual. Rapunzel is quiet, and so is he, and there is a strange companionship about it, a shared serenity they had danced near earlier and that Varian had then shattered, a silence they are finally truly sharing, a peace in totality. Varian bandages Rapunzel’s hand, Rapunzel watches him and does not pull her hand away, and there is a sense of calm here he could not describe even if he had the words for it.

“Huh.”

Rapunzel’s voice, though abrupt, doesn’t break the calm. Rather, it eases into it. Her voice is soft, rasping faintly, and there is an odd warmth there that Varian does not know what to do with.

“You’re good at this,” Rapunzel says, and at this compliment his hands stutter with uncertainty, faltering the rhythm. Varian snaps his head up, his eyes searching her face. Rapunzel meets his gaze, studying his expression the same way he is hers, as if trying to guess his mood. There is no smile on her drawn face, but no anger either. Just a gentle curiosity and cautious question. “How do you know how to do this?”

For a moment he can’t speak, doesn’t know what to say. No words come. No anger, no spiteful comment, no furious retort.

In the end, Varian finds himself settling for the truth, and perhaps this is the most surprising action of all.

“I—I’ve always been—um. A bit of a klutz, I guess?” He hesitates, then looks down to avoid her gaze, and restarts the wrapping. He is almost finished with this hand, the cloth bandage thick and bulky around her palm. “So I just… figured it out, eventually.”

“Ah,” Rapunzel says, and there’s something like a smile in her voice, a pale and weak tug at her lips. But her eyes are curved with a pale joy, and Varian stills again at the sight of it. “That’s—that’s a little funny, actually. That’s how I learned too.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, except—all at once, he’s desperate to keep the conversation going. “Alchemy,” Varian whispers, staring down blindly at Rapunzel’s half-bandaged hands. “I used to—I was really bad—safety precautions.” He is stumbling and slipping on the words, sentences disjointed and awkward now that they have been stripped bare of their usual venom. “It was—um. I didn’t want to worry anyone, so I… I learned how. So Dad wouldn’t worry.”

Rapunzel twitches at this, and then she huffs, the sound self-deprecating. “O-oh. Yeah. Me… me too.” 

Varian glances up at her, confused by her tone, but at her strained expression the memory comes roaring back. She is talking about the woman who took her, he realizes, and it makes him feel cold. She is talking about her tower. All at once, her reluctance makes sense.

 _I loved her!_ Rapunzel had shouted back then.  _I miss her_!

It has never quite occurred to Varian before, that in those 18 years she was gone Rapunzel lived a different life. She had not always been Princess Rapunzel. He wonders now if she had even known she was a princess at all. She had been a girl who lived in a tower, who lived with a woman she called mother, a woman she loved, and… she hadn’t wanted that woman to worry, she had perhaps wanted to make her mother proud. Except unlike Varian’s dad— that woman had not loved Rapunzel back.

It shouldn’t surprise him, that the tower still affects her, that her life there has shaped her as much as it has. It does, though; maybe that is more his fault than hers.

Varian looks down at her hands and carefully winds the bandage through her fingers, pulling it taut so that she cannot bend her hands and make the cuts worse. “Well,” he says. He is surprised to find his hands are shaking. “E-even if our reasons were dumb, we… we know how, now. And it’s been pretty useful here, so. That’s a win, isn’t it?”

Rapunzel blinks, straightening at this; her gaze weighs heavy on his shoulders. Slowly, she relaxes again, and when Varian finds the courage to meet her eyes, it is to see her smiling. “Yes,” she says, soft. “I—I suppose so. That is—”

Her voice abruptly cuts out. Without warning, Rapunzel starts, flinching so hard she nearly tears her hand from Varian’s hold, her head snapping to the side. Her eyes have gone wide, staring off into the blackness, her breath catching. Her shoulders are tense.

Varian jumps too, caught off-guard by the sudden shift. “What—”

“I—”

“What is it?”

Rapunzel stares off into the dark. “I thought… I thought I saw…” Her voice goes small and uncertain, before finally fading off completely. Her lips press in a thin line. “…Never mind. I just—sorry, Varian, I… what were we talking about?”

Her dismissal stings, a bit. So does her forgetfulness, the loss of that conversation. He tries not to blame her for it—she is as tired as he is, and he knows that now for certain. His eyes drop back to her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Varian.”

“It really doesn’t.”

Rapunzel doesn’t respond right away. The silence stretches on long enough to be uncomfortable, and Varian glances up uncertainly, freezing at what he finds. She is watching him. Quiet and close-lipped and almost— _contemplative,_ something searching and strangely piercing in her face, her eyes staring past and through him.

Varian holds himself still, and his eyes fall away, head bowing, hair falling to hide his face. He doesn’t look at her. All at once, he suddenly cannot meet her eyes. He picks up the cloth and continues wrapping. Progress—one hand done, the other nearly so. He pulls the bandage tight and secure.

“Varian,” Rapunzel says at last, a call for his attention. Something in her voice makes him flinch. He doesn’t look up. “I… I just want to tell you… what I said, earlier. In the—crystal place. About the amber… I’m sorry.”

He stares at her half-bandaged palm, noting absently that the blood is soaking through the thin layer already. He grabs another strip of cloth as if to continue and stops. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

“I didn’t mean it to be cruel,” Rapunzel continues, sounding worn. “But it was, I think. I’m… I am sorry for that.”

Her wording is careful, voice steady, and even like this, Varian knows how to read between the lines. She is sorry for that—but not for what else she said, or what it had implied.

He wants to be angry at her; he wishes he were angry. But the anger doesn’t come, and instead, something else rises in its place.

Varian is shaking. He has been on the brink of this before, only recently. He had almost asked her, then, when she’d been crying and broken and the memory of what happened had still stung fresh. But he had seen her face and the words had gone quiet.

 _Why do we have to do this now?_ Rapunzel had asked back then, and these words return to him. It is selfish, his question, and perhaps Varian has been selfish for too long. But they are not broken right now, or at least not as broken as before, and even if he has waited Varian can’t bear not asking at all, no matter what she might think of him. He can’t forget that hall of mirrors and he can’t ignore what happened there.

And she has brought this memory rising to the surface, brought the question back to the forefront with her words and her apology, and the memory rings louder than ever, and so—Varian asks.

“Why did you save me?”

Rapunzel doesn’t answer right away and this pause terrifies him. His gut coils, hands shaking as he ties the last and final knot on her bandages, pulling back his hands so that he can twist together his fingers. He looks at that, instead of her, because in this too he is afraid to look at her, afraid that if he meets her eyes he will see a truth, a reflection of himself that Varian no longer has the strength or defense to deny.

“Why did you save me?” he repeats, quieter now, cowed by her unresponsiveness. His throat is tight, the words strangled. “I… I don’t understand it.”

He has asked this before, he thinks, or perhaps something like it, except back then he was angry and ungrateful and he had not been looking for an answer but a fight. But now that fight is gone. It has been doused, deadened, drowned out by an awful creeping truth, a whisper from a dream, and the memory of how Rapunzel has stood before him, her back straight and head held tall like some mythical hero, never flinching even as the golem went for her throat.

That fight is gone now, and this is all Varian has left—desperation and a quiet question. “Why did you do that? Why do you keep…?”

Rapunzel doesn’t answer him right away, but he can hear her, that slight rasp growing stronger as her breathing quickens. When she finally speaks, her voice is raw and tired, shaking and thin. “Just—just how _badly_ do you think of me?”

Varian flinches, a tremble starting in his fingers. “I… I don’t, I don’t…”

“Do you,” Rapunzel says, sounding near breathless and almost faint, “Do you… do you really think I’d—I’d leave anyone here to _die_? Have, have I really made you think—”

Varian’s head snaps up, his eyes going wide. “No!” he cries, and then he stumbles on the thought. “I mean… yes? I don’t…” He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth, trying to drag cohesion back into his words. “I meant—not even that, not just that, I mean… all of this. Why—even, even from the start you were… _h-helping_ me, and I don’t… I don’t get it, I just _can’t,_ and I don’t know why I can’t figure it out. I just— what are you gaining from this? Why did you…”

“ _What am I—_ you, you really think I…?” Rapunzel gives a wet, choked laugh and shakes her head. “Of course you do. Of course. Oh, Varian, do you—do you _honestly_ think I wanted any of this?”

“I…”

“You think I liked having you along with us?” Rapunzel says, something awful breaking her voice. “Feeling sick to my stomach with guilt every time I looked at you, f-forcing Eugene to shield us both, making… making Cass have to—have to sit through _all_ your insults, _all_ your awful words and—”

She shakes her head, breathing roughly. A twist to her voice and crack in her words, the walls closing in above their heads and the blue light ghastly upon her face. “And,” Rapunzel continues, her fury mounting with the words, “and not being able to _do_ anything about it, because I knew, if I did, that you’d only get worse? You think— what, you think I went through all that for— for me?”

Varian can’t answer her. He sits there hearing her detail his behavior with a voice that shakes but never rises, with a choked sort of anger that aches with deep-seated hurt. He hears each word and it carves into him like the blade of a knife.

“And—” Rapunzel says, her voice trembling, “and what, do you think I _wanted_ you to feel this way? To— to spiral even lower, to break down, to—”

She cuts herself off, shaking her head, and hides her face like she is trying not to scream. “Oh! Damn it, damn it, I said I wouldn’t get angry—”

“I—I asked.”

Rapunzel stops. She looks up at him very slowly. Her hair falls in long sections across her face, a veil between them. She stares at him and then drags in a ragged breath, and her next words are choked and halting, braced for a retort. “…What?”

Varian cannot meet her eyes, and so he looks at her hair, instead—snaking across the dirt, colored gray rather than gold in the blue light, piled at their feet and trailing off into the shadow. “You don’t want to get angry,” he says finally, repeating the phrase. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, and he stutters on the words, tries to make sense out of the confusion and hurt. “But it’s not… I kind of get why you’re—angry. And. And I asked. I asked. I—” Varian swallows hard, tasting bile, and concludes, words quiet, “I’m still asking.”

He forces himself to meet her eyes. She is watching him, her expression drawn and tired, almost stunned.

“Please tell me,” Varian says, voice shaking. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know why it hurts to ask this, why he feels as if he’s tearing himself in two, but at the same time, he has never needed an answer more. “I don’t care if you’re angry, I just— I _have_ to know.”

Rapunzel stares at him. She presses her lips into a thin line, her face colorless and gray, her expression hollow. He can see her shaking, the way her hands tremble and the taut line of her shoulders and neck, stiff with tension. Her head is bowed, newly bandaged hands lying open on her knees, nails digging into the fabric of her skirt.

“I didn’t want any of this,” Rapunzel says finally, and there is something different in her voice now, a quiet grief and a quiet regret and a helpless anger that he is startled to realize doesn’t sound directed at him. “I didn’t want _any_ of this. This was—this was never for me. I—I—”

Her voice trails off, strangled shut, and she gives a sudden and sharp breath, a soft and sobbing gasp, and presses the back of her arm against her eyes. Her breathing rasps from the effort of holding back her tears. 

“Varian,” Rapunzel says, something tired and pained in her voice, “Varian, I did it for _you._ I took you with us, I helped you, because— because you were my friend, and I failed you. And I couldn’t help you back then, and everything you did, it didn’t seem to make anything better for you. So I thought— even if you hated me forever—even if you never forgave me…”

She trails off, and her next breath is tight with tears. “Oh, _damn_ it. Varian, I never gained a thing from this. I didn’t need your help on this journey, not really. I just— I just wanted to do something, _anything_ to— to make things better. To get you out of that cage. To— to maybe let you be happy again.” She gives a choked off laugh, her voice wavering, trailing off into a ramble. “How dumb was that, huh? Cass was right. I… I should never have taken you with us. Everything would’ve been better if I had left you back in Corona.” 

Her words should anger him, Varian thinks; they certainly cut deep. Yet, he isn’t angry. Not really. Because now Varian understands.

Rapunzel is right, probably, at least about this. If he had never come… he knows things would be different for him, and he is self-aware enough to know the journey would have been infinitely more pleasant for her. But Varian finds himself unsettled by the idea. Should she have left him back in Corona? Most likely.

But then…who would Varian be, without all this?

Rapunzel is still talking. “I didn’t want to let you down again,” she says, and Varian shudders at the unintentional echo to a promise he’d made months ago. “Even if it never mattered, even if it meant nothing to you, I… I thought, I thought I could help, I thought I _was_ helping, but in the end… I only made things worse for you. For all of us.”

Her head drops, then it rises again with great effort, as if the weight of it is too much for her. Her eyes are sunken and dark with inner turmoil. “That probably wasn’t the answer you were hoping for.”

“No,” Varian forces out. He closes his eyes and tries not to feel like he’s falling, and only partially succeeds. There is an awful burn behind his eyelids, an unfamiliar emotion coiling his insides. “B-but I asked, so—so—”

He can’t finish. He shakes his head and draws up his knees to hide his face. “Yeah,” he whispers. The tears burn like acid at his eyes. “Yeah. Alright.” 

They sit there for what feels like a long time, but in truth is likely only minutes. The silence bearing down, the echoes of something that might be his imagination, might be a monster in the dark.

Rapunzel sighs. “We… we should probably get moving.”

His fingers tighten in his sleeves, and Varian forces himself to relax. He draws in a sharp breath and finally lifts his head. “Okay.”

He stands, and he helps her stand too, because it is probably hard for her to push herself up with her hands as they are. For a long moment they stay there, lingering, waiting, words unsaid and hanging heavy between them.

A knot rises in his throat, words trapped behind his teeth. He has the strange and suddenly compelling urge to speak. There is something else here, lingering on the fringe, words he can’t quite give voice to, but they are here regardless—

Rapunzel speaks first. “Can I ask you something, too?”

The words wither and die before he can even recognize them for what they are. Varian watches the ground and dips in his head in the barest approximation of a nod.

“Why… everything you did, Varian. Everything you’ve done. Why—Why did you do it?”

He cannot answer her, not really. She should already know, he thinks, or maybe—maybe he only ever imagined that she knew. The reasons swirl around in his head, twisting and tangling like loose thread, hopelessly knotted. _Because I was right. Because it wasn’t my fault. Because you hurt me and you deserved it._

None feel quite right. None feel entirely true. Varian is no longer certain about any of it, and so it is not the right answer to give.

“I don’t know,” he whispers at last, and the admission costs him. He steps away from her, creating distance. “I—I was angry. You hurt me. I wanted—I wanted to hurt you, I think…”

And this is true, it is, but it still doesn’t feel complete and suddenly he needs to say this, to admit this, not really to her but more to himself. “But also, I just…” He stops, inhaling deeply, then hisses through his teeth and shakes his head hard. “I, I just wanted… I just wanted to save my dad!”  

Rapunzel doesn’t answer.

“That’s all I wanted,” Varian says, his emotion draining with the outburst. “I want my dad back, I wanted to prove I could something _r-right_ for once, that I could win, that… that I could make him proud.”

“Have you?” Rapunzel asks, and Varian flinches. Her voice is gentle. Her words are knives. “I’m, I’m not asking to be cruel, Varian, I’m simply… everything that’s happened, everything you’ve done, have you… do you think you’ve made him proud?”

Tears burn behind his eyes. His head aches, mind casting back. Memories of a town overrun and abandoned, but Varian had stayed behind; memories of a cell and chains; memories of hateful words and bitter comments; an arrow in his hand held high above his head.

“I don’t know,” Varian says aloud, but in his heart, he thinks: _No. I haven’t made him proud at all._

Rapunzel doesn’t respond, and at last she shakes her head, moving away. Moving on. Moving forward.

Varian lingers by the wall for a long moment, weak to his knees, shattered by the silence. But even something like this cannot shake the drive of terror, that desire to live and never meet the golem face-to-face again, and so he follows. Walking at her heels, just behind her. Moving on into the dark. Forcing himself to take another step, step after step after step, her words and his words and the words from long ago ringing in his head and in his ears and in his heart.

-

High above the mortal realm, Moon watches the earth.

The Moon is always watching, of course. Hers is the realm of the dreaming, and so she herself never sleeps. Her eye is forever open, her gaze forever vigilant. At night she sees clearly, and in the day she is blinded, but she is always, always there. When her Being cannot be seen, then the rocks serve as her eyes. She never looks away. She has not looked away once since the moment she came into existence.

In this moment, however, Moon’s attention is caught, focused on a singular point in the great expanse of the planet. She lingers halfway between the waking world and the dreaming, her illusions and whispers wrapped around her like a cloak. Her eyes peer through every shining black rock, every stone formation of her will and heart on the ground below.

She hovers, formless and invisible, waiting and watching. Through her many eyes, she sees all—a castle on a distant hill, a field consumed by her rocks, a traveling band of sea thieves. She sees a cave in a hillside, a ruin consumed by the great forests, a city border wall crumbled under her stone spires. She sees a woman of her Kingdom seated on the earth, a lifeless stone turned sword resting on her back; the Sundrop’s silly and useless fellows beside her.

The Moon’s attention lingers on them briefly, intrigued by their gathering. She had stopped the Kingdom woman at the border of Moon’s land, for she’d known she would stop the Sundrop from approaching, but the Moon’s hold had loosened once the Sundrop fell within her walls. Now, it appears the Kingdom woman has taken advantage of this—has caught up to the useless ones, and is keeping them company.

Fitting, perhaps. They are not part of Moon’s plan, not part of the Sundrop’s story. Unlike the dying boy, she cannot even think of a good use for them. They can wallow in their pitiful existence, and leave Moon to her machinations in peace.

She turns away from them, and does not bother looking back again. Their role here is finished, and Moon has no more use for them. She focuses on her labyrinth instead, slipping into the walls, peering through the stone.

In her heart of her labyrinth, the Moon can see clearly. Before her eyes events unfold in tandem. Her golem, her awkward puppet of unwieldy stone, still stumbling along blindly in the crystal caverns without Moon to push it forward and pull its strings. Her Sundrop, traveling still, moving through her labyrinth’s halls, the dying boy beside her. They are closing in. They are close. Soon they will reach her Tower, and the Sundrop will come to her final test.

They are not so close, however, that they can make it there without stopping, not as they are. Even as Moon watches, they are slowing, their steps faltering, their eyes dropping low. They fall against the walls in between one blink and the next, and when she looks again they are sleeping, or nearly so.

The Moon lingers in the walls, considering their resting forms. Her golem, the poor, broken thing—it has fallen behind them some, in light of its new wounds. Not too far though, and if she tugs on its strings then it will cut through the rock and be upon them within the dawn of the next hour. 

She isn’t worried about pushing them too far. Her Sundrop is strong—she must be—and Moon has been careful, after all. And after that little _mishap,_ she has been more careful still. She has adjusted her whispered instructions, placed new limitations on the golem’s barest slip of a mind. No longer meant to simply ignore the existence of the Sundrop—now, the thing will avoid her entirely.

The fact such safety measures must be put in place at all incenses her. That near slip had almost cost Moon everything, and even the memory makes her furious, sends cold mists across her dead land and sparks of light in the black stone. Moon hadn’t been pleased when the dying boy was caught in her cave with the Sundrop, but she had found a use for him, even as her dislike grew. But now his purpose is waning. What point is there in making the boy a target, to keep her Sundrop alive but still tested, if the idiot Sundrop will throw herself between the boy and death?

What an impudent girl. Reckless, foolish child. The boy, Moon knows, does not deserve her Sundrop’s pity. Moon sees all. She hears all. This dying boy deserves nothing, and the more he speaks, the more he fights, the less Moon likes the look of him. His anger, so ugly. His hatred, so _human._ If he did not still serve a purpose in Moon’s grand game of chess, she’d have taken him out entirely. Even in dreams, he is ungrateful. It is _disgusting._

The thought sours her already dark mood. Moon arches, sinking into the walls, looking down upon them—the dying boy and this sun-spark slip of a girl—and crooks her needle-like fingers, her call like a wordless song, drawing the golem ever closer. They have rested so often, wasted already waning seconds. It vexes her. Can’t the dear Sundrop see that they are all running out of time? Moon has waited long enough as-is.

She draws the threads through the air, gently guiding her golem to them. What are walls, to her creature? What is a set path, to this beauty she has made? Broken her golem may now be, but it still has one working sword. Moon will ensure that final blade tastes blood.

When the threads are drawn, Moon settles with a sigh, casting one last glance at the Sundrop. Then she turns away and settles back into the wall, spreading herself thin, casting her net over the labyrinth. The final game is soon to be afoot, and so, Moon must prepare herself, she must make sure all is arranged… 

She is just about to slip out of focus when a soft voice catches her attention.

“…Moon?”

The Moon pauses.

The dying boy’s voice is quiet, rasping in the silence. “What?”

“Moon,” the Sundrop girl repeats, her voice growing firm. The being in question turns away, wondering if the girl has finally decided to share with the boy the secret she has discovered. If so, Moon has no purpose here; she has no desire to hear what the humans think is her story.

“So,” the Sundrop girl says, almost under her breath, “it _was_ you I saw, back then.”

Moon stills at this, wavering in the air. Her head tilts, hair drifting languidly around her, coiling with curiosity. Another pause, but this time Moon is aware and waiting—eyes trained forward but also looking back, every inch of her being focused with deadly intent on the girl’s next words.

The boy speaks, questions, demands clarification. But the Sundrop does not answer him. Perhaps because she isn’t talking to him in the first place. But Moon had not intended to reveal herself again just yet, which means…

Her curiosity wins the battle of wills. Moon twists back to face them, and this time she looks, this time she watches closely. And then she smiles, wide and bright and elated, for the Sundrop’s staring eyes are fixed on Moon’s image.

 _Oh,_ Moon thinks to herself, smile growing, her hands rising to clap and then clasp before her chest. How delightful! Perhaps the labyrinth is working after all—the girl has _seen_ her.

Another mark in her favor: the Sundrop girl does not flinch when she meets Moon’s eyes. She does not quail. She puts an arm around the dying boy and ignores it when he jumps at the contact, squeezing him close to her side. “Nothing, Varian,” says the Sundrop, but her eyes never stray from Moon’s figure in the mirror-like black stone. “Just… something I wanted to tell you. But it can wait.” She looks at Moon and her jaw tightens. “I simply have something to ask.”

The wordplay is clever, for a human, and at it Moon cackles, wordless and gleeful. So, the Sundrop wishes to chat? How strange. How _interesting._ No matter Moon’s vexations with the Sundrop’s recent actions, she cannot help but be charmed by the simple scheme. This, at least, is a surprise she can enjoy fully.

Moon does so _love_ a good game.

The boy, however, does not seem to catch on that the Sundrop is talking to someone other than himself. He is stiff in the Sundrop’s hold, uncertain and uncomfortable. At her words, he stiffens, something dark fixing over his face. Something… angry.

Moon’s eyes snap to the boy. Something deep within her goes tight and hot, an old wound flaring back to life. In this boy’s face she can see echoes of a time long ago, a time she’d prefer to forget.

Moon looks at this boy’s fury, and feels her smile go cold.

 She can hear, distantly, the Sundrop’s sharp intake of breath. She can see the tension in the girl’s shoulders at Moon’s sudden shift of focus. But then, the Moon does not care. She slips free from the black stone, invisible to all eyes but the divine, and glides forward with all the grace of a polished blade. She walks to the boy, and leans over him—smiling, watching, waiting.

“V-Varian—”

“If it’s important, you can tell me now!”

Moon’s smile takes on a harder edge. She leans closer, nearly nose-to-nose with him. She towers over him, this small slip of a boy, arched above his unsuspecting form with a smile benefitting a serpent. She is so close her breath frosts his eyelashes and makes him shiver, staring right into his unseeing eyes. Blank and blue, and in them, she can almost see herself—

“Varian, _please_!”

His anger fades. The Moon tilts her head, neck crooking to the side.

“R-Rapunzel? You look—What’s wrong? What are you looking at?” He turns and Moon glides back before he can go through her, watching him shiver at the lingering ice of her aura. “There’s nothing there, why are— oh. Do you… see something?”

The Sundrop’s eyes are wide now, wide and white, her pupils like pinpricks. She meets Moon’s gaze and Moon lets her smile stretch, placing one bony finger against her lips, splitting her grinning mouth in two.

What little color remained drops away from her Sundrop’s pretty face. “No,” the girl whispers. Her voice is quiet. Her lips barely move. “No, I didn’t—I didn’t see anything. It’s okay, Varian. Go sleep. I’ll… take the watch.”

He is unwilling, Moon can feel it. She lifts an arm and reaches out to card her hand through the boy’s hair. At first her touch is gentle—and then her fingers curl into claws, and her needle-like nails scrape viciously down his scalp.

The boy gasps, and then he is gone.

The light of consciousness within him blinks out. His bright blue eyes go blank and unseeing, his body limp. He is held up only by the harsh grip Moon has on his hair. She releases him, tossing him forward, watching impassively as he drops.

The Sundrop _screams_ , the sound so piercing it makes Moon flinch, taken by surprise. The Sundrop girl catches the boy before he hits the ground, clutching his lifeless body close as she scrambles away from Moon. When Moon follows, the girl panics, kicking a bag in Moon’s direction. It sails harmlessly through her form, items scattering across the ground.

The girl doesn’t seem to notice or care about the possible insult. Her hand shakes roughly at the boy’s shoulder. Her voice rises and falls in a wavering pitch, high and shrill with fear. No matter her efforts, the boy does not respond. He cannot respond. “Varian? _Varian_!”

 ** _Do not fret,_** Moon tells her, finally in the mood to speak, amused at the girl’s hysteria. **_He merely sleeps. I have use for him still, even now._**

She watches with interest at the girl’s reaction to this—a small gasp, a sudden silence. Her Sundrop hugs the boy’s limp body, lowering her head to bring her cheek close to his face, checking for his breath. When she finds it, she nearly collapses—but then she catches herself, going stiff and still once more, pale eyes snapping back onto Moon.

How strange, that she would ignore Moon’s presence for so long. That strong reaction: the scream, the kicked bag, the desperate check to see if he still breathes—what on earth is the point of it all? Moon drifts forward as she thinks, circling them in thought, gliding in and out of the stone to observe them in full. Her hair wisps and curls around her face.

 ** _Yet why should it matter, if he sleeps or dies?_** Moon wonders aloud, and glances at the girl from the corner of her eye. She stops in front of them, tilting down her head to see them better. My, but they are both so small. **_You called for me, dear Sundrop. You have asked me to wait. You have asked to speak. I presume you have a reason, and something worthwhile to say beyond screaming._**

Moon smiles at this, laughing at her own joke, and lets the silence convey clearly what she does not say—there had _better_ be a reason, especially after the stunt her Sundrop had pulled. Moon’s time is so very limited, and to waste even an inkling of it… Well. Her Sundrop is lucky that Moon is so fond of her.

The Sundrop girl swallows hard at this statement, catching the subtext. Her face is colorless, her eyes huge. Her arms clutch the unconscious boy close as if this alone can keep him safe from all harm. It is a pathetic gesture, a useless one, and Moon regards them silently, her smile fading at the sight. The boy is practically dead already; can her Sundrop not see that? He is not long for this world, his usefulness nearing its end, else Moon would strike him down now and be done with it.

Perhaps the Sundrop girl does not see as much as Moon would like. This is… unfortunate. She glides closer at this thought, peering down with intent. She is close enough now to see a glimpse of her own reflection in the girl’s pale eyes, the reflecting glow of Moon’s white hair and shining eyes.

Moon has not bothered to hide her face here; there is no point, not when in her anger Moon has already revealed herself. It is her true form that the Sundrop girl sees now: Moon’s lovely dark skin, glowing hair, moon-bright eyes. Yet, for all that, the girl’s eyes seem fixed on her smile. It is almost funny.

 ** _Well?_** Moon asks, and settles to the earth to stand properly before the girl, staring down at her. The silent observation, while amusing, is not what she came here for. **_Speak, child, or you will regret having tested my patience when I am already cross with you._**

“I,” says the girl, and falters. Her words are thin, hoarse with terror. “I just— I wanted…” Her voice goes small, withering in her throat. Her eyes stray back to the boy, and something shifts in her face. She takes another breath.

This time when the Sundrop speaks, her voice is strong. “I have something to ask you.”

Moon arches her eyebrows at this bold statement, tilting her head to the side. Her smile turns sly. **_Oh?_**

The Sundrop still cannot quite meet Moon’s eyes, but her voice remains clear, if trembling. “Why are you doing this?” she asks at last. “The golem, this labyrinth, _everything_ , I—why are you doing this? What you want from me?”

Moon laughs outright at the audacity. **_Oh, dear girl. Why should I tell you?_**

“That’s—” The girl falters at this, and then she takes another breath and recovers again. So strange, this Sundrop girl, now that Moon has a closer look at her. She isn’t much like Sun after all—too hesitant, too uncertain, no confidence or courage in her flat green eyes. And yet, still she rises. Is it enough?

“Please,” the girl says finally. Her voice has gone low again, soft and shaking. Her eyes have fallen to the floor. “Please, please tell me why. If o-only because… because it doesn’t have to _be_ this way,” and at this, her momentum returns, strength found in emotion. Moon wonders at the look in her eyes and waits for her to finish. “You don’t have to hunt us, you don’t have to hurt us, you don’t have to hurt _Varian_! We don’t have to _do_ this! If you would just talk to me, maybe we can—maybe we can figure something out.”

The Sundrop girl stops, breathing heavily, her chest heaving from the long slew of words. She takes a deep breath as if to speak again and abruptly holds it. Her pale eyes stare up at Moon, waiting for an answer.

Moon stares down at her. For a moment, something terribly sentimental coils in her heart, tugs at old scars and older wounds. Moon sighs, the ancient pain fading with her breath, and looks away from the Sundrop’s expectant face. Her long hair, lashing at her cheeks, uncoils and drifts gently about her. Her shoulders drop, bowed under the weight of a million what-ifs.

**_That is… not possible._ **

“W-what?” the girl says, when Moon says nothing else. “Is—is that it? Why isn’t it possible?”  Her voice is rising now, raw and wounded. “What—I don’t—what reason could you _possibly_ have that allows for—this! All this! Please, _talk_ to me, if you would just tell me, maybe I could—”

 ** _I cannot do that,_** Moon replies, cutting her off. Her melancholy fades, the prick of irritation returning. She feels restless, trapped, power itching beneath her skin and begging to be released. **_As I have said, it is not possible._**

The Sundrop tightens her hold on the dying boy, and her thin voice cracks in the air between them. “ _Why!?_ ”

 ** _Because it’s not!_** Moon snaps, rising up, bristling at the offense. The girl shrinks back against the wall, her breath catching. **_The time for words is over. It is a millennium too late for that. No! Action, action is all that is needed, and that cannot be determined through words, that cannot be held by a promise._**

“I, I don’t—” the Sundrop starts, stuttering, and shakes her head, desperation in her eyes. “Please, I don’t understand!”

 ** _There is something coming, dear Sundrop._** The Moon glides forward, drawing in close. She comes nose-to-nose with the girl, staring her right in the eyes. The Sundrop quails against the wall, colorless and quiet, barely breathing. ** _There is a rot that grows forever beneath the deep. But soon it will rise, soon it will awaken, and all lives—even mine—will hang in the balance._**

Moon reaches out, and gently cups the Sundrop’s face between her open palms, her long and needle-like fingers pressed against a fragile scalp and unbreakable golden hair.  ** _I will know now, child, if you have any hope of withstanding it…_**

She trails her fingers down the girl’s white cheek, and Moon’s smile goes sharp. ** _Or the world will simply have to find itself a new champion._**

The Sundrop doesn’t answer. She is frozen in Moon’s grasp, still as a statue, her breathing shallow and quick. Moon can feel her rapid heartbeat like a drum against her cold fingers, as fast and as fearful as a rabbit’s.

 ** _There is no more turning back,_** Moon informs the girl, finally drawing away. She releases the girl’s face, rising up to her full towering height. Her smile is all teeth. **_There is no other path. You will walk through my labyrinth, child, and I_** **will _see if you’ve the strength to survive it. I will know if you can make the right choice._**

The Sundrop shakes. Her eyes squeeze shut, her teeth clenched and jaw tight. She breathes in short bursts, sharp and gasping. Yet even as Moon watches, she regains some semblance of control. Her eyes pry open, her next words soft, forced past numb lips. “T-then… then, if that’s why… i-if that’s…”

She stops, and tries to breathe, and looks back down at the boy again. Slowly, her breathing eases. “Then…” says the girl, and she stares back up at Moon with a face full of pleading. “If that’s it, then—then Varian, and my friends—”

**_Oh? What about them?_ **

“Please, _please,_ let them go! Leave them alone! It’s me you want, right? Then let Varian leave, please let them leave, this place—it’s going to _kill_ him. He isn’t who you want, right? So—so—”

Moon laughs in her face and the girl cringes. **_No._**

“Why!” the girl cries, and oh, she is angry now, her voice is rising, her eyes shining. This close, Moon can see the girl clearly, see her in a new light, a new perspective. It is not a flattering picture. “Why, why are you _doing_ this to them, why are you hurting them? It’s me you want, isn’t it? So why—”

**_Why not?_ **

“Wh—what are you—”

 ** _You defend this boy so fiercely, when both of us know he does not deserve it._** Moon rocks back on her heels, eyes open, fingers flexing at her sides. Despite herself, she cannot keep the bitterness from her voice. **_Why do you defend him? Why shield him? He has betrayed you and used you and broken you without any regard for your well-being. He has hurt you. Why defend him as you have? Why do you not cut him down?_**

The girl is shaking. “He—he didn’t—”

**_Do not lie to me, girl. This is my labyrinth, my heart, my will. I see all. I hear all. I know what he has done to you. I know the hate in his heart._ **

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “M-maybe. Maybe he has. But he still—he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to die here.”

Moon smiles, cold as a midwinter storm. **_On that I am afraid we disagree._**

“What is your problem!?” the Sundrop cries, the words tearing from her throat. “Why… in my dreams, and even here… why Varian? Why are you using him? Why _him?_ He hasn’t done anything to you! _”_

**_You feared him. That was enough. Fear is the greatest motivator, you see. Look how quickly you came to this land, if only so you could finally be rid of him once the journey was over! Oh, my dear, did you think he was special? He isn’t. If you did not fear him so, he would be less than nothing to me._ **

There is something terrible in the girl’s face. “All this,” she whispers. “All those dreams. Because… I was afraid.”

The explanation should be enough. It is true, after all. But still—the girl’s questions make her think. Moon taps her fingers against her cheek, curious at her own train of thought, speaking aloud. **_Yes, yes. That was it. At first—I used the boy because you hated him. Though now, I suppose…_**

Moon stops. Her gaze drops, bright eyes considering the dying boy. She has used him, toyed with him, caught him in her trap and tangled him on a string, just another puppet for her to play with. But faced with this question, Moon cannot deny her resentment. She cannot deny her anger. The seed of it had bloomed to life the moment she’d seen his anger, had grown with every word from the dying boy’s lips. And this seed, this dark pit of fury, it had solidified the moment the Sundrop girl threw herself between him and the death he rightfully deserved.

 ** _Perhaps,_** Moon says, distantly, to herself. She thinks back on the dream she had drawn the boy into, the hall of mirrors she created for him, at the time curious as to what he would see. He had looked into the mirrors, and his mind had conjured not an image of himself—but an image of the Sundrop. When Moon herself stepped in, it had been his reflection to respond, his own face that he feared most of all.

 ** _Perhaps,_** Moon admits now, becoming certain with the words, **_now it is because_** **I _hate him._**

The Sundrop girl goes pale. “You—you _hate_ —?”

Moon clicks her tongue, thoughtful, hovering over the earth. **_Mirrors are such terrible things, little girl. You look in a mirror and see yourself. He sees you._** A truth that Moon is not overly fond of admitting, but a truth all the same— **_I see him._**

“I… I don’t understand.”

 ** _It is no matter,_** Moon decides, and waves her hand through the air, dismissing the issue entirely.  ** _I am not like you. I do not have to live with my mirrors. I can break the things I do not like._**

She clasps her hands and tilts back her head to laugh at her own whimsy. **_Oh, why must I defend myself at all? This boy, or your worthless fellows… their lives, their pain, what does it matter, truly?_**

At this, the Sundrop girl recoils. Her eyes have gone wide. “Varian—Eugene, and Cass—?”

Moon blinks down at her, bemused at this reaction, her smile crooking. **_Oh?_** ** _Are you afraid for them?_**

“Stop _hurting_ them! Leave us alone!”

**_Why?_ **

“You—you—”

 ** _They are human,_** Moon tells her, and cannot help the curl of disgust in her voice, the old hatred stirring in her bones. **_Their lives burn as weak as an ember, there one moment and gone the next. They will die whether I interfere or not, so why should it matter if I should play with them before their light goes out?_**

“But that’s _horrible!_ ” the girl cries, and the dismay on her face, the disgust and the fury glimmering beneath it all… in this instant she looks so like Sun that Moon feels as if she’s been struck all over again, the echo of a sword piercing her chest.

Moon reels back, breath catching. For a moment she forgets where she is.

Then she remembers, and it is almost worse than forgetting at all.

 ** _They are nothing_**! Moon snarls, and her voice howls through the cavern, echoes in the walls and resounds louder and louder, an increasing crescendo. The girl flinches back so hard her head knocks the stone, hands slamming against her ears, knees drawn up before her in a vain attempt at defense. Her face is white, mouth open as she struggles to breathe. **_Just as you would be nothing, if not for the Sundrop in your veins!_**

The girl doesn’t answer. Her eyes are wide and fearful, her chest heaving. She is shaking. She does not look like a Sundrop anymore; Moon can see nothing of her radiant Sun in this filthy human face. This girl’s hair hangs flat and straight, dull yellow from scalp to tip, nothing like Sun’s beautiful coils of burnt orange and shining gold. Her eyes are flat and green, her pupil round, her irises plain. Her skin is too pale, her form too skinny and too sharp, her face too angled and her expression far too fearful.

Sundrop? Moon cannot see it. If she could not feel the spark of Sun’s eternal glow in this girl’s soul she would never have believed it. She can see none of Sun’s beauty in this girl’s wan face; cannot even feel the warmth of her will or of her heart. Only shadows. Only echoes. And echoes, Moon knows, a sinking feeling in her chest, echoes mean absolutely nothing at all.

 ** _Perhaps you are still nothing, even then,_** Moon says, suddenly hushed, her fury tempering into a low burn. She has the sickening sense that she may have been wrong. Perhaps this girl is worthless after all. A millennium of waiting, and Moon still has nothing to show for it. 

Perhaps she never will. Perhaps she should kill this stupid human girl and this stupid human boy here and now, run her little friends through and rid the world of their weakness. Rid Moon herself of the troubles and doubts they have plagued her with.

She comes very close. Moon despises her suddenly and intently, this girl and her Sundrop glow and her pathetically human heart. Her fingers crook and the walls glow white and blue, and in that ghastly light the girl’s head lifts, and her eyes stare back.

The Sundrop girl does not speak. Her arms clutch the unconscious boy in her arms closer as if to brace herself for the blow. She stares up at Moon and her eyes are green instead of gold, but they remind Moon of _her_ eyes all the same. Horror giving way to realization. Fear and understanding and regret.

All at once, Moon remembers herself. This is not the test she wanted, this is not according to plan. A slim chance is still better than no chance at all.

Moon closes her eyes and exhales sharply, the light going out with her breath. The walls spark and shimmer. Neither of them moves.

 ** _You are playing a game you do not know the rules to,_** Moon says, at last. She is no longer smiling. Her voice has gone cold and hard. **_Be careful where you step._**

The girl doesn’t answer. Her head is bowed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She is shaking like she is stunned to still find herself alive.

 ** _I am finished here,_** Moon decides. **_I have nothing more to say to you. Your words are… vexing. No, I am finished here. I will watch, instead. I will find my answers in your actions._**

She turns to leave, hair flying out behind her. This was a mistake. The amusement has died, her good mood ashes in the wind. She should never have played the Sundrop’s little game this far into the final plot.

She goes to vanish, and a soft voice speaks at her back. 

“I won’t die here.”

Moon pauses, reluctant. She looks back at the Sundrop girl from the corner of her eye, her smile gone as if it had never been in the first place.

The Sundrop girl won’t look at her. Her eyes are lowered, focused on the boy, on the stone walls and stone ceiling, on the labyrinth she cannot escape. “I won’t die,” she says, and her voice is quiet but strong. “I… _we_ , we will not die here. I’ll succeed. I will. Varian, and I, we are escaping this place alive.”

She looks up, and meets Moon’s eyes at last. “And that,” she says, with cold finality, “is a promise _._ ”

 ** _You can try,_** Moon says, considering her. **_But know this. The next time you wish to throw yourself in harm’s way… the next time you seek to gamble?_** She draws herself up to her full towering height. ** _You have fallen from my favor, girl. I will not help you again, Sundrop or not._**

“That’s fine. That’s _fine._ I don’t need your help. There’s still time. I still have time. I’m more than the Sundrop, even if that’s all you see.”

Her voice is firm. Her heart is set. Stupid, silly girl—and yet, for the first time, she seems suddenly so much braver. Less the frightened rabbit, and more like the girl from the realm of dreaming, stepping off the crossroads with her head held high.

For the first time, it occurs to Moon to see that moment in a new light. Moon had humored the girl then—tested her resolve and been pleased by what she found, and so she had not pushed. But now the question arises. Why? Why did this girl deny the two roads Moon showed her, and what path did she choose, that it would torture her so? What could possibly drive her to do all those inane things? To throw herself in front of that boy, to fight against _Moon_ , of all beings. She is walking in the midst of Moon’s labyrinth, but Moon has the unsettling feeling that she is not walking the road Moon wanted her to.

Moon does not know, and for the first time, it occurs to her that this may have been an oversight on her part.

But that was long ago, that chapter of their story is dead and gone, and Moon steps back, easing back into the walls. **_But of course,_** she says. **_That is the hope, is it not? That is what labyrinths do._**

She tilts her head and gives the girl a final smile, a true crescent grin. **_I shall see you tested, girl. I shall see your will broken, your confidence fall, your heart shatter. I will see you at your lowest, and then—then I will see what you are made of, Sundrop girl, and I will know if I have made the right choice. We will both of us see if this bold promise of yours holds any weight at all._**

“Don’t worry,” the girl says, voice cold, something strangely regal in her face. “I always keep my promises.”

 ** _Do you?_** Moon murmurs, doubt in her voice. She glances disdainfully at the dying boy. **_I do wonder. But then, we shall see, shan’t we? You not much like Sun after all… but you have promise, I will give you that. Yet, in the end, perhaps you are only human._**

The Sundrop girl tilts back her head, her jaw tightening. “There’s nothing wrong,” she says, “with being human.”

For all the girl’s ridiculous sentiment, her eyes for that one instant almost seem to glint as gold as the sun. Moon slinks back into the stone, and cannot deny the sliver of relief pricking her heart at the sight. Her imagination? Perhaps. But then… perhaps not.

Human though the girl may be, maddening though her actions are, perhaps she is still what Moon needs. Perhaps she will do. Perhaps, where Moon has failed, this girl has enough of Sun in her to make the right choice. Perhaps not.

Only time, and her labyrinth, will tell if this is true.

Moon sinks away into the dark, and smiles, wide and bright and eternal. The Sundrop girl is right, at least about this. There is still time. There are still miles of her labyrinth to go, and answers to be found, and Moon settles into her niche of the world to watch.

The hour of reckoning is almost here, and Moon will not miss her chance again.

-

Long after the Moon has left, Rapunzel waits for Varian to wake up.

 She does not move. She does not shake his shoulder. She doesn’t get up. She is too scared to move, still, too scared that if she breathes too loudly and shifts that the peace will break and aftershock will come crashing down on their heads.

In hindsight, she is not certain, now, of how she thought that conversation would go, but the outcome is both better and worse than her expectations. Throughout the past few hours, she had seen glimpses of a shining form in the corner of her eye—Moon, she knows now—and at the time, she had thought…

Well.

She has accomplished nothing, Rapunzel thinks to herself, something hopeless and painful curdling in her gut. They are still here. Nothing has changed. Varian is a dead weight at her side, breathing labored even in rest, fading with every passing second. The golem is still after them. Moon hates her—at least, Rapunzel thinks she does—more than ever before.

The Moon hates Varian, too, and Rapunzel closes her eyes tight at that reminder.

She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. The Moon is unsettling, strange, her form wisping to and fro. She glides in and out of focus, a lag to her movements that makes every swipe of her hand and tilt of her head doubled, the afterimage and the result existing in tandem. Drifting and dreamlike, a hallucination made flesh.

But when Varian had spoken, when his anger had flared, and again when Rapunzel upset her with her questions—then and only then, the Moon had snapped into dizzyingly sharp relief. Shoulders back and body poised like a blade, her gaze resting on Varian like she was estimating the most efficient way to cut him down. Even the air had gone tight—taut and stiff, a heavy wave of power slamming down on their heads, smothering and cloying like weighted smoke.

When the Moon had dragged her claw-like hands through Varian’s hair, and he collapsed, for a terrifying instant Rapunzel thought she’d killed him.

What followed those events has not eased her terror in the slightest. Even the knowledge that Moon is still after them, that there will be no escape until Rapunzel has made whatever choice that Moon wants her to make—even that cannot make Rapunzel move. She is terrified of shaking Varian’s shoulder. She is terrified of tempting fate. With every second she counts her breaths and begs him to wake up because she is too scared to check and find herself without an answer.

It was the worst feeling in the world, to shake his shoulder and call his name, and receive no response.

At long last though, Varian’s breathing hitches, and his eyelids start to flicker. Rapunzel holds herself still, watching and waiting, and when his eyes open fully she collapses against the wall, weak with relief.

Varian wakes up slowly, in pieces, eyes blank and unfocused. She knows the moment he finally wakes up completely, because then he pulls away, jolting from Rapunzel like she’s burned him. He lurches up to his feet and sways, barely keeping himself upright. His hand rubs at the side where he had laid against her shoulder as if he is trying to figure out what to think about it.

Rapunzel waits, but Varian doesn’t say anything, just looks at his hands and rubs at the pinched skin around his handcuffs in thought. She shakes her head and sighs. “I hope you slept well,” she tells him, trying to keep her voice steady. “We should probably get moving.”

He stares at his chains, brow furrowed. “I… fell asleep?”

He doesn’t sound alarmed; more confused, a bit lost. Rapunzel stills, inhaling sharply. That’s right, she realizes. He wouldn’t have known. He hadn’t seen Moon—he couldn’t have, the being had been nose-to-nose with him, grin wide and wicked at his unseeing gaze, and he hadn’t even blinked—and so, to him… that conversation, that terrifying dance between information and threat… it never happened, not to Varian.

All at once, Rapunzel doesn’t want to look at him. She stands up, wishing she could wring her hands but knowing that even with these bandages her palms are too injured to risk it. “Let’s go. Can we go?”

Varian is staring at her now, and she can hear the suspicion in his voice, the budding understanding. “You’re… afraid?”

“It’s nothing,” Rapunzel tells him, and walks off hurriedly, but no footsteps sound behind her. She stops, and after a deep breath, calms her hands and steels her nerves and dares to look over her shoulder. Varian hasn’t moved to follow her. His head is lowered, his jaw clenched. His eyes have gone dark, glaring down at the dirt. His fingers are white-knuckled in the dusty fabric of his shirt.

A memory strikes her. Before the Moon had forced Varian into sleep, before she stood arched above him looking moments away from running him through, the words that had sparked the Moon’s attention on him in the first place…

_If it’s important, tell me now!_

_Tell me!_

Varian does not do well with secrets, Rapunzel recalls, and she sighs, pressing her wrist against her hair, pressure on her temple. How funny, that she comes to this again. Like in the cave, concerning the creature, something he doesn’t really need to know but wants to know regardless, and yet…

It is like the cave, and at the same time, it isn’t. Something has shifted, in that short amount of time between then and now. He is kinder now, or maybe she has warmed up to him in some way, because Rapunzel finds that—that she doesn’t _mind_ telling him, sharing this secret and new understanding. She is not as afraid of him. Or perhaps it’s just that for once, she doesn’t think he will try and use it against her.

She isn’t entirely sure why she believes that, but she does. Rapunzel looks down at her bandaged palms, and rubs the fraying edge of the cotton through the exposed tips of her fingers. Then she takes a breath, and says “I do want to tell you. I’m not keeping it quiet on purpose, it’s—difficult. That’s all.”

He still won’t look at her, eyes dark and mouth pinched. He rubs at the handcuffs, metal links clinking in the air between them. But there is something else, too—a hitch to his shoulders, the way he curls away from her, the lowered eyes.

His expression abruptly makes sense to her. He is not hateful—he is _upset._ He is more hurt, than angry; sullen instead of spiteful.

“Then—” he starts.

“I do want to tell you,” Rapunzel says, interrupting him. He isn’t angry, and that is… that is enough, she thinks. Perhaps telling him, sharing this secret, perhaps it isn’t such a bad idea after all. One last shot at trusting him. “I really do. I just don’t know where to start.” Rapunzel looks behind her, catches his eyes, and gives him a faint smile. “Give me some time to think?”

He stares at her, and then his eyes trail away. “Okay,” he says, quiet, eyes back on the ground. He breathes in as if to say something else, stops, then closes his eyes and shakes his head, teeth gritting slightly. “…Okay.”

“Okay,” Rapunzel echoes, relieved at this unusually positive response. She brushes the dirt off her skirt and sweeps her hair out of her face, and this time her smile is a little warmer. “Let’s go, then?”

Varian shakes his head, and makes as if to move forward. Abruptly, he stops mid-step, turning to the dark. “Wait—your satchel.”

“What?” Her hand goes to her side automatically, and Rapunzel jumps when she finds it empty. “Oh!”

She had dropped it when they rested and accidentally kicked it away in her efforts to drag Varian away from the Moon. In the dim lighting, she can see her bag has fallen open, contents spilling out into the hall. She stares at the mess and then shuts her eyes, pained. A moment of struggle, and then Rapunzel says, “Leave it. It’s—we’ve already wasted so much time, I don’t think…”

When she opens her eyes again, she almost jumps, for Varian is watching her, a slight frown on his face. His eyes drop away again, falling back to squint at the dark ground. “No,” he says, after a long pause. “It won’t take too long. I can do it.”

“But your leg—”

“What, you want to kneel down and try to use your hands, then?”

The snapped comment shuts her up, and Rapunzel draws away, face flushing red. Varian winces, but doesn’t say anything more, just slowly kneels down to collect her fallen items. Rapunzel watches the tense line of his shoulders and doesn’t bother to speak again.

She waits as he finishes the task, eyes on her bandaged hands, staring down at them as if she could peer past the cloth and see what lies beneath it. Every breath of the dusty air tears at the inside of her throat. The black stone wall of the labyrinth is icy cold against her back.

In this quiet, Varian’s unexpected gasp is painfully audible.

Rapunzel snaps up straight, fear fluttering in her gut and up her throat. Her thoughts turn at once to the Moon. Has she returned? Have they lingered too long? “Varian!? What is it? Is it—”

“No, no,” Varian says. His voice is quick, the words wavering. “No, I’m fine, everything’s fine, I just—”

“What?”

He pauses, and then he holds something up for her to see. A stone, she realizes. A crystal, small and shimmering. She’d found on the side of the road over a month ago, long before all this grief.

“Varian?”

“Where did you find this?”

“On the road? Ages ago, I—I picked up a lot of stuff like that—”

“It’s a mineral,” Varian says. Something strange has entered his voice, brightening his words, lifting his tone and his eyes. He fumbles at the ground, bare fingers clawing at the dirt. “And, and you have _paint,_ that has resin and lead and iron oxide, even, depending on colors, and then—your ink—and you even have some herbs, and we found those matches and the candle stub…”

“It’s useless stuff, I know,” Rapunzel starts, desperate to avoid a fight, and then Varian laughs.

His laughter is bright, loud and startling, and the sound of it makes her jump. It is not bitter, or angry, or any of the things she has heard his laughter be. It is—nostalgic. It is a sound, a laugh, that she has not heard in months, not since—

Varian is happy, he is _laughing,_ and all at once it occurs to Rapunzel that this time he isn’t angry at all.

“It’s _perfect!”_ Varian cries, and he gives her a wild smile almost on instinct, before he turns away to fumble with the items once more. Rapunzel stares at him, feeling wrong-footed, so surprised he might as well have slapped her. “It’s absolutely _perfect,_ it’s wonderful! Oh, wow! And you have— _green_ paint, did you know, that has arsenic in it? Trace amounts, but—” He gives a breathless sort of giggle, for once sounding every inch the child he is. “Ah! This is amazing!”

“V-Varian…?”

He looks up at her, grinning, and his expression falters at the look on her face. But it doesn’t fade, not completely, and just that is enough to stun her speechless. There is a brightness to his face, a joy in his eyes, a hope Rapunzel cannot comprehend. “I—I don’t think I can do something that will, um, break us out, but—” He holds out the crystals and paint jars and matches with a smile that once promised good intentions and later promised mayhem. “But I _can_ help. _”_

“Help…”

“Alchemy!” Varian cries, and starts laughing again, helpless giggles made hysterical with pure relief. “I can make an _explosion!_ ”

Rapunzel cannot answer, and Varian doesn’t seem to expect her too. He stands up fast, Rapunzel’s newly repacked bag clenched in his hands, and gives her a weak smile. “Can I—hold onto this? I can make the, um, bombs, as we walk, I promise, I won’t slow us down. And it—I don’t know if it’ll help but it _might_ , and well, really, I think we could use all the help we can get—”

He is babbling now, and Rapunzel belatedly realizes he is asking permission, of sorts. It might not help. It might be a waste. But whether it is useful or not doesn’t really matter, because more importantly—

 _Alchemy,_ Varian had said, so bright and joyful it had chased even the shadows of the labyrinth from his face, and does she have any right to take that away from him?

“Of course,” Rapunzel says, and Varian stops mid-word, shoulders tense— “Of course. That’s wonderful!” She gives him a smile that is more like an offering, and says, “You can work on that while we walk, and I will try to get my thoughts in order.”

He blinks at this, halting as if he has forgotten about her promise of answers, biting his lip between his teeth. She can see the hesitancy in his face, the uncertainty and distrust—and she can see the moment it breaks, and something in him softens.

Varian looks away first.

“Okay,” he says. His fingers fiddle with the bag strap. “Sounds… sounds like a plan.”

Rapunzel smiles at him again, and for once, strangely—it doesn’t feel forced. At this realization, her smile grows, disbelief and a faint hope fluttering in her heart. “Ready to keep going?”

He meets her eyes. His expression is strange—near unreadable—but for once it does not promise danger or a temper. Mostly Varian just looks lost. And then, when he gives her a faint smile back… maybe even a little contemplative.

“Yeah,” Varian says, quiet. His grips firms on the bag. “Let’s… let’s keep going.”

Rapunzel nods, and waits for him to join her—and then they walk on side by side, braving the dark labyrinth together.

-

It does not take Rapunzel as long as she thought it would to gather her thoughts.

Perhaps this is due to her own waning sense of time. The labyrinth makes every minute feel like an hour, every hour a day, every day a lifetime. But then, maybe—maybe time is not the marker to use here. Maybe it is not that she is quick to gather her thoughts, as it is _easier._

Easy, yes, that’s the word. It is easier to gather her thoughts than Rapunzel thought it would be. Part of that might just be that she has nothing else to do here, but think; there is nothing else to focus on besides her fear, and she’s ignoring that with everything she has. The other half of it is Varian.

As they limp along the labyrinth’s winding passages, Rapunzel keeps one eye ahead and the other on him, watching his face. The younger boy never looks back. Varian is focused entirely on his task, focused on not dropping the objects balanced between his fingers, on keeping his hands steady. He squints in the dull light, careful to be precise in his measurements. His tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he works, a nervous habit, his eyes unwavering despite his exhaustion. It is the most awake—the most alive, no matter how terrible the phrase—that Rapunzel has seen Varian in… in a long time. Before the labyrinth, maybe even before the incident with the arrow. Months. Ages.

He seems wholly unaware of her, and that makes it easier. Like this Rapunzel can ignore the awful history stretching out behind them, the trailing banner of bad blood. Like this they are both blind to the walls between them, all the things they cannot get rid of or move past. Like this, Rapunzel can almost pretend they are friends—or at the very least, not enemies.

And it makes it easy for her to gather her thoughts, to know what to say with this in mind. For once their truce does not feel one-sided. For once she doesn’t think Varian will attack her over this, for once she can almost believe that maybe—just maybe—they can talk without it dissolving into another ugly fight.

Rapunzel is so tired of fighting with him. Even if her anger is justified, Rapunzel has never liked it. Anger is ugly, awful, heart-wrenching. Anger turned Mother Gothel’s face monstrous even before Rapunzel knew the truth, and Rapunzel’s anger especially— Well.

She doesn’t like to think of it, and she likes even less that this habit—this, this _fear_ of her own anger—has persisted. But even then, Rapunzel cannot help but hate getting angry. And she hates at how easily Varian can make her angry, just as much as she hates how easily she can hurt him, even when she doesn’t mean to.

They are so very good at making each other angry, and at hating each other. It would be nice, it would be wonderful, if perhaps for once—if maybe they could move past that. Just for once.

Rapunzel is under no illusions. She isn’t foolish enough, anymore, to hope this peace will last. She can no longer expect things of Varian, because he is the master of his own choices, and her expectations have thus far only led them both to ruin. But even one moment of pretend peace, one conversation of pretending like everything is fine—then that one moment will be the one good thing to come from this labyrinth, and Rapunzel will hold onto that tentative peace for as long as she can before it inevitably fails once more.

“It was the Moon.”

Varian halts at the sound of her voice, and Rapunzel reaches out to steady him with her arm before he can trip. He is limping heavily now, and this is not the first time she has done this. She would carry him again if she didn’t already know he would fight her on it and hurt himself worse.

“What?”

“The Moon,” Rapunzel repeats, keeping her arm braced against his shoulder after a brief pause. It takes some maneuvering to support him without irritating her wounds, but she manages. Varian looks at her hand but doesn’t brush her off; they both know he can no longer walk without help. “Like— from the stories. The storybook.”

“ _The Tales of Sun and Moon_ ,” Varian mumbles, looking back at his project. The paint bottle glass glows faintly translucent in the blue light, bits of leaf stuck to the sides where Varian had crumbled them in, a thin layer of loose and hanging cloth tied to the top. “The book I found. But that’s. That’s just a story.”

“It’s not,” Rapunzel says, and before he can question her, she adds, “I told you—my dream. Right?”

He stares at the paint bottle and carefully rests one of her crystals on the cloth layer, keeping it separated from the liquid. “The creature. Shadow thing. Yeah.”

“It smiled.”

His lips press in a thin line, eyes falling to the handcuffs still clinking on his bony wrists, and she wonders if he is remembering the same thing she is—how he had reacted to this tale with accusations and a thrown foot-cuff, the iron shattering against the wall into shrapnel. “Yes.”

Rapunzel takes a breath. “It looked like her, a bit. The Moon. From the stories. And there were—other things.”

“But you don’t _know—”_ Varian starts, fingers tightening on the bottle, and Rapunzel shakes her head.

“I do,” she says quietly. “I—when the golem attacked us—” He flinches and she barrels on, pushing past the raw memory. “I called, and she—answered. She answered.” Rapunzel swallows hard. “And then I… I called her again.”

He freezes for one moment, and this time he does look at her, realization dawning. “Earlier—when I—?”

“Yes.”

“You looked afraid,” Varian says, with an air of remembrance, reluctance on his face. Then his brow furrows and his gaze goes distant, looking back into memory. He worries his lower lip between his teeth in thought. “It was really cold. And I… fell asleep…?”

Rapunzel looks at him for a long moment, not sure what to say, and sees the instant understanding strikes. Varian goes white in the face, his eyes widening. “…Oh.”

“Varian…”

“But that doesn’t make _sense_ ,” he argues with her, voice rising, and she flinches at the sound of his anger, disappoint and fury climbing in response, pulling away—

Abruptly Varian goes silent, stopping still in his tracks. He looks at his feet. “I—”

“I know what I saw. I know who I spoke with.” She can’t help the frustration in her voice. “Varian, why on earth would I _lie?_ ”

He looks away from her. When he finally answers, his voice is plaintive, small and sulky like a child’s.

“But I _hate_ magic.”

The reasoning is so silly that Rapunzel is struck momentarily speechless. Then she relaxes, the tension easing, a nigh-hysterical laugh crawling up her throat.

She bites it back and smiles at him instead, daring to reach for him. She rests her bandaged palm on his shoulder. “I’m starting to, too.”

He is tense beneath her touch, but then he slumps, staring at the bottle in his hands as if it holds all the answers. “The Moon?”

“The Moon.”

“But she—why would she, D-dad always said—” Varian fumbles. “She _loves_ the Sun.”

Rapunzel’s lips thin. “I guess I’m not much like her, then.”

“I mean, appearance-wise, sure, but—”

“Not in personality, either, I think.”

He falters again. “Oh. She said—?”

“She didn’t really need to say it,” Rapunzel mumbles, pushing past the hurt and fear. "Besides,” she continues, bitterness climbing up her throat at the memory, “even if I was, she doesn’t—I don’t think—” Her shoulders slump again. The truth is too terrible to say, yet another mark against them in this trail. “She doesn’t like humans all that much.”

Varian doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice has gone very small. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He fumbles with the bottle again as if to give himself something to do. As Rapunzel watches, he ties a cord around the lip, securing the stone, then slides a broken off piece of candle wick down the side of the glass. He looks at it for a long time. “What does she want?”

"I don’t know.”

“You can’t ask?”

“She won’t say.”

“Oh,” Varian says, staring at the bottle. His brow furrows. “Fuck.”

The swear is so startling Rapunzel giggles, even as her nose scrunches at the sound of it. “Language.”

He stares at her. “Did you just—”

“Just because we’re trapped in here doesn’t mean—”

He isn’t smiling, though, and her voice trails off. “You—” Varian starts, something dark in his face, “you aren’t my _mom_.”

“I...” Rapunzel is caught off-guard, stunned by the retort. “I know that, Varian, I didn’t mean…”

He has already turned away, and Rapunzel snaps her mouth shut, hot shame rising in her chest. Her gut twists, her hurt and broken hands twitching in a vain attempt to curl into fists. She moves away, drawing her hand off his shoulder, giving him distance once more.

The sudden peace between them has broken and cracked. Rapunzel has forgotten herself—she has forgotten who he is—she treated Varian like a friend and he snapped at her, and the torn illusion hurts more than it reasonably should.

“Never mind,” Rapunzel says, and cannot quite keep her voice even, cannot help the bitter edge lacing her words. “I just… I thought you deserved to know.”

Varian doesn’t answer. His eyes rest solely on his project, hands nimbly tying off a cap to the paint bottle before he places the makeshift bomb back into her satchel. He takes out the next bottle and gets to work on another. He doesn’t look at her. The truce has gone stale.

“Never mind,” Rapunzel says again, shaking her head clear. She doesn’t know why she bothers anymore. She doesn’t know why she tries. This is as far as they will ever come, and to try otherwise is— she is being foolish, again. Rapunzel shakes her head and walks on a little faster, chest tight with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

In her emotion, she forgets to watch her step. Her foot catches, and Rapunzel trips over stone.

There is an awful moment where she pinwheels, catching herself on the wall before she tumbles, agony searing up her arm as her hands jolt. A short scream crawls past her lips, and she bites it down before it breaks loose. Rapunzel stumbles back, hands curled into her stomach. With the absence of her touch and proximity, the walls go dark.

Varian’s voice is almost too loud, in this darkness. “Rapunzel!?”

“I’m fine,” she says, the words hissed through grit teeth. His alarm sparks something within her, hurt and fury and helpless confusion. He is only ever nice when it suits him, and it is beginning to infuriate her. “I just tripped.” She leans against the wall, sighing in relief at the return of the light, and looks down at the floor. “It was—”

Surprise quiets her.

“Cobblestone,” Varian says for her. He’s put the other bottle away back in the bag, looking down at the floor. Settled deep in the dirt the chipped and broken edge of pale gray rock pokes out, nearly glowing in the dim light. The color is soft and gray, so bizarrely _normal_ it has become utterly strange. It’s rock. It’s just rock.“Is it—do you think, another house?”

She frowns at it, her answer clipped. “Maybe.”

“That’s good news.”

She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t want to talk to him. “Maybe.”

She can hear him behind her, breathing in as if to speak. But no words come. No response, no answer—no apology. Never an apology. Never anything.

The conversation drops there, and really, what else did Rapunzel expect? Has Varian ever truly instigated a conversation with her? Has he talked to her at all without anger? Has he tried at all, ever, not just in this labyrinth but all the weeks before that? Has he ever attempted to make amends?

No, Rapunzel thinks, something burning behind her eyes, in her heart. No, of course not. Varian doesn’t want things to change. He doesn’t want things to get better. He doesn’t want forgiveness, and Rapunzel does not want to give it. Varian is a child without regret, and Rapunzel is tired of trying.

She won’t leave him behind. She won’t leave him to die—never, not ever. She will never fail him again. But she is beginning to get the sense that so long as she holds onto these silly, stupid hopes—this stupid dream of a total happy ever after—then Varian will never stop disappointing _her._

It changes nothing, of course. Not really. But it is a realization, an understanding, a truth that has finally sunk in to be true.

Rapunzel makes no mention of it. She keeps going. She doesn’t want to think about this, or about him. There are bigger problems here, in this labyrinth. There are deeper mysteries.

After that first stone, Rapunzel finds, others become more frequent. They litter the floors, are embedded deep in the walls. Gray, hard, heavy stone—carved blocks, and if Rapunzel squints she thinks she can see even engravings on a few of them.

No houses though, and this thought niggles at her mind, a hope she refuses to let come into fruition until she knows more. Stone, dark and heavy, _expensive,_ carved and littering the floors, as if, in some great event, it has been pushed out of place…

At last, her trailing fingers reach out and find something new. A wall, a dead-end—except, Rapunzel realizes suddenly, it is not a dead-end at all. It is a wall. A _proper_ wall, made not of black rock but smooth stone. Against her palm, it lies not straight but rounded—circular in nature and shape. And in that gray stone— a hollow arch. A doorway in the side of a winding circular structure.

Rapunzel is no scientist, but she does not need to be, not for this. The pieces come together. Her breath hitches. Hope and fear alike bloom to life in her heart, her throat, her mind. No more rock. No more labyrinths.

They have found the door to the Moon’s tower, and the truth: the end of the labyrinth, the end of this road, the final choice; after all these weeks, this month, these days and hours—it is finally within her reach.

-

Varian stares up at the Moon’s tower.

The first thing he notices: the tower is old. This much he can tell, standing here at its gate, staring up at that worn doorway. The tower is so old it is pitted and ugly and dying. In this part of it, the dust lies so thick it is as if it has a second skin. The house had been abandoned for decades, but this place has laid untouched for centuries. It is as old as the ruins in the forest, from all those weeks ago, or perhaps even older than that. Not so much old as it is ancient.

Varian is quiet. He leans against the labyrinth’s walls, peering through that darkened doorway, a pit in his stomach. He cannot see inside, and the darkness is deep. He has no idea if the black rocks lie within, if there is anything in there at all.

They linger there for what feels like minutes but must be only seconds. The air is intense, hostile, awkward. Rapunzel won’t look at him. Varian cannot look at her. He takes a breath and reaches into the satchel by his side, fingers rubbing at the glass bottle bombs. The joy of creating them has faded now, but it still settles something in him to have them at all. To have done at least this.

It takes longer than it should for him to understand Rapunzel’s hesitation. The door to the tower, but if there are no black rocks within, nothing that will glow at Rapunzel’s touch—how will they see?

She could ask him. She knows he has the satchel, the candle, the matches. She could ask him. But she doesn’t.

“I didn’t use the candle,” Varian says, and watches her start at the sound of his voice. There is a sinking feeling, deep and dark and awful, coiling in his insides, a serpent strangling his heart. “When I made… the bombs, I didn’t use all of the candle.”

“That’s good.”

He has nothing else to offer at that, and the conversation stalls. Varian swallows hard. There is a knot in his throat, and every breath draws it tighter. Rapunzel’s voice is cold—she had smiled barely a half hour ago, and now her voice is cold. Varian had snapped at her, and now she won’t look at him.

But then, what was she expecting? Rapunzel can’t—she can’t just pretend like that. Like they are friends. She isn’t his friend. They aren’t family. So then—

Why does it matter, if Varian snaps at her, but he is starting to think it does. His gut twists. He feels faintly ill. For the first time it occurs to him that perhaps this wretched feeling is not entirely due to his infected leg.

He shives faintly at the idea, and turns to fumbles at the bag so he doesn’t have to think about it. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know why he said those things. He just—doesn’t know, anymore.

Keep it together, Varian reminds himself, struggling to push past it all. This isn’t the time, not now, not _now,_ Varian. He has to keep it together.

It takes him a long time to find the candle and the matches—longer than it should have, at any rate. His fingers tremble, press painfully tight against the stick-thin matches. It takes him four tries to finally ignite it. When he goes to light the candle, he is shaking so badly he almost drops them both.

By some miracle he keeps hold on it, and finally gets the wick alight. Varian drops the match at his feet, watching the pale flame sizzle out in the dirt. The candlelight is soft and quiet. The glow, warm and real and bright, is a welcome change from the aching blue shine of the labyrinth.

Varian glances up, uncertain of what to say but wanting, for some reason, to speak—only to find Rapunzel has already started moving, walking into darkness the moment the light had lit. She steps into the shadows and stops when he doesn’t follow.

After a long pause, Rapunzel turns back to look at him. Her face is unreadable, her eyes cool, shattered and tired and empty. She doesn’t say a word. She just waits.

Varian looks away first.

She lingers in the door until he steps beside her, and then she starts moving again. Varian keeps his eyes on the ground the whole time. In the corner of his eye, the small flame dances and flickers, taunted by an invisible hand. The candlelight encircles them, swallows them whole. Like this they are protected, haloed in a wavering sphere of pale yellow, one last defense against the dark.

They navigate the Moon’s tower in silence. There is no exploration here, no wonder to be found in these domed roofs or crumbling walls. Varian watches the candlelight and Rapunzel watches the dark, and they make their way through without comment. Their footsteps are soft and padding, their breaths hushed, their voices mute.

Away from the black rocks, away from the labyrinth, Varian should probably feel safer. He doesn’t though. Perhaps neither of them does. In here, the strange weight of this unworldly realm seems doubled. The air is heavy, ancient, icy cold with every wavering inhale. He feels like a trespasser, a stranger, an intruder. The walls are watching him. The floor marks his every step. They are not alone, and they are not welcome.

Varian remembers the flash of the golem’s blade, and something cold trails his back. Perhaps it is only Varian who is not welcome.

He tries not to think about it. He watches the candle and focuses on each step, wandering on into the dark. The thump of the satchel at his side is not as comforting as it was ten minutes ago.

To his dismay, he finds even the tower is not free from the labyrinth, not entirely. Dark spires spear through the crumbling walls, interlocking into a sharp and deadly ceiling. There is something terribly violent about it—the broken walls and untouched floors, the awful mismatch of powdery gray stone giving in to unyielding black rock. The pitted walls around them, the ancient stone, once hard and now gone soft as chalk with age. Time has not healed the wounds of this forgotten place; it has merely dusted them over and left it to rot.

They walk the length of the tower room twice before Varian realizes, their sense of space muddled by the dark and unfamiliarity. There is no other door. Or perhaps, no door left remaining. Maybe it had crumbled, or been consumed and blocked off by the black rocks; either way, the result remains the same.

“There’s no exit,” Varian whispers, and watches Rapunzel halt mid-step in front of him. She doesn’t move again for a long time.

Her voice is very soft. “There—there has to be.”

Irritation and fear well up at this denial. _Everything is going to be okay._ Her optimism is maddening. “Well, _I_ can’t see one, Princess. Can you?”

To his surprise, Rapunzel doesn’t answer. She turns back to look at him, and he jumps, startled by the sight of her. Her eyes are deep-set and pale, and her gaze flickers away—darts to the walls and to the floors, hurried and unfocused. Her quiet distresses him, and Varian grits his teeth, abruptly regretting his words. He looks back at the candle, staring past the flame, glaring down at the fire as if it holds the answers he needs.

Memories arise without warning. The cave—and before, when she had broken down at the labyrinth walls— and suddenly Varian is speaking before he can even register what he’s saying. “I think—there must be—”

He cannot get the words out, and Rapunzel is no help—just watches him, looking unwilling and uncertain, almost hesitant. Varian struggles to find the right phrasing, and at last forces out, “The walls are—old. I think, if there’s a large enough gap or hole…”

She stares at him, and then her eyes brighten, just a bit. The relief he feels at this sight is staggering. “Oh, that’s— you’re right. If we can find something big enough…!”

She turns away from him, wandering to the wall, injured hands hovering by the stone. She gets to the edge of their small circle of light and pauses. Her voice is carefully neutral. “Walk with me?”

His leg spasms in pain at the very thought, but Rapunzel cannot hold the candle as she is—or at least, cannot hold it without hurting herself. He cannot leave her to do this alone. Varian goes to her side without comment, and pretends not to notice how she sighs, exhausted relief plain to see on her face.

This time the search takes them much longer. They wander the expense of the walls, searching for an area broken down enough and big enough for them to squeeze through. It takes time. It takes too much time. Varian can’t hear the shriek of the golem or see the glow of its eyes, ( _God, thank god,_ he thinks) but he knows it is coming.

If nothing else, the labyrinth has taught Varian a thing or two about inevitability.

At long last, however, they find an opening— a broken bit of a wall that must have crumpled when the rocks broke through, big enough for them to slip through if they are creative about it. The wall is thick, but the candlelight shines the whole way through. There is an exit.

Rapunzel squeezes in first with minimal trouble. Varian waits on the other side, clutching the brass holder with the candle tight in his palms, wishing for the cool comfort of his makeshift bombs. The moment she is out of sight he can feel his alarm spike. He hates it. He hates this.

“It’s clear,” Rapunzel calls back, quiet. There is no real need to shush their voices, but from the moment they’ve entered this place neither of them has managed to raise their voices above a whisper. There is something about the air. “I can’t see, but I think it’s a room? There’s a lot of empty space…”

“Good enough,” Varian mumbles back. He slides the candle across the ground to the other side and finally follows after her. It’s rather easy—the hole is small, and at awkward angles, but Varian is smaller and far more flexible. The only point of trouble he finds is his leg and ear; he is aware of every jolt, every brush with the rock. His leg is so sensitive now that even the air seems to make it ache, every step like walking on knives.

Varian ignores it, gritting his teeth against the sting of tears. He makes it through.

Rapunzel is waiting for him on the other side, and before he can protest, she takes his arm and helps him to his feet, supporting him when he falters. Varian finds his balance and pushes her off as soon as he is able, smacking her arm away.

Her hands drop. Rapunzel turns away without another word.

The look on her face—his gut twists into a knot, and his throat aches, heavy and swollen with something he cannot say. Something he doesn’t know how to say. (Something, something, and in truth he still doesn’t know what this something even _is,_ and yet—)

In the end Varian doesn’t say anything. He stares at the floor and watches the candle, and he tries his best to ignore the acidic heat welling up in his throat. 

Rapunzel doesn’t look back at him again. “Let’s keep going,” she says instead, already moving into the heart of this new room. Moving on, always, and this thought shouldn’t burn him but for some reason it does. He forces the feeling back and lifts up the candle to follow her.

The pale light catches on the walls, and the candle clatters from his grasp.

The brass holder crashes again the worn cobblestone with a ringing clang, and he can see Rapunzel jump just before the flame goes out. Varian doesn’t move. He hears Rapunzel cry out, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes stare out blindly into the dark. His heartbeat pounds in his ears like a drum.

“Varian!? What happened? The light—”

“I—”

“Are you okay? Where are you!”

“I—” he says again, voice rising, strangled on a fear he himself cannot name, “I—I saw—”

“You saw—?” Her breath catches. “Was... Is it—”

“ _No,_ ” Varian says. He is shaking. He drops unsteadily to his knees, skin feverish, bones chilled. The darkness presses down on him, and he scrambles at the dusty floor, desperate to find the candle. A burn itches beneath his skin, twitching at restless fingers. He couldn’t have. It couldn’t be. He has to find the candle, he has to light a match, he has to know if it’s true, if it’s real, if it’s really there—

The world spins slow, spins rapidly. Time has no hold. He yanks the satchel from his shoulder, trying to find the match case in the mess of items. His searching and twitchy fingers find the candle, find a match, find the brass holder. Rapunzel is still talking. The darkness presses down. Varian cannot breathe.

When he finally relights the candle, he finds himself frozen in place, heart strangled in his chest, gripped by a numb fear, a sudden unwillingness.  Like when he was a child, utterly convinced of monsters in his closet but too afraid to look for them himself. He doesn’t know where Rapunzel is and he doesn’t care. He stares at the candle until the light makes his eyes water.

But he cannot delay forever. The truth never goes away. _The truth always catches up to you,_ the dream whispers. And if it is true, if it is really, honestly there— then he has to know.

_Tell me the truth!_

Varian looks up.

It takes his vision time to adjust, the candle glow glaring behind his eyes. The darkness wavers and then strengthens, and then suddenly, in the dull light of the candleflame—suddenly Varian can see it clearly.

“No,” Varian whispers.

Rapunzel is silent now. She has followed his gaze, she has seen what he has seen. He can tell, though—she doesn’t understand. There is no comprehension in her eyes, no gut-wrenching fear. When Varian stands and wanders to the wall, she stays behind: staring, soundless, subdued.

“I, I don’t…”

He feels torn and broken and suddenly very far away from it all, distant and above himself, looking back into memory. On the broken and pitted wall, a great symbol takes up the expanse, black lines carved deep into the gray stone. A circle, a perfect circle, bisected by three lines like the trailing tails of a comet.

It should be nothing. Varian wishes, faintly, that it meant nothing to him. But Varian knows this symbol. That is the worst of it. He knows this symbol, he has stared at it and agonized over it and wondered over it and while before it meant nothing but a mystery, all at once it is struck in a horrifying new light.

This symbol, here, in the tower pit, this ancient and untouched place. A symbol in the heart of a labyrinth, guarded by a monster and a god. So how could Dad…?

“I’ve seen that before,” Rapunzel says from behind him, and Varian goes still. “I—in those ruins, from weeks ago… it was in a tower—”

His voice rasps from his throat. “You’ve… _seen_ this?”

“…Yes? Varian, I don’t—”

“You saw this,” he whispers. He’s shaking. “And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t—”

“Tell you _what?”_ She sounds confused, tired and hurt, voice breaking on sheer frustration. “I don’t—Varian, what’s wrong? It’s just a symbol, and—and, I guess, maybe it’s a bit weird that it’s here, but if you think about it, I mean—”

She doesn’t understand, Varian realizes, no longer paying attention to her rambling. She has no idea what this means or why he is reacting this way. She sees it as overkill, an over-reaction… She has no idea. She does not know the weeks Varian spent pouring over that old book of his dad’s, trying desperately to translate the graphtyc, she does not know of the symbol on the old helmet, or on the chest, or the sword hilt. She doesn’t understand what this means—that this symbol proves, by virtue of existing here, that Varian never really knew his dad at all.

“My dad,” he whispers, and barely even notices when Rapunzel falls abruptly quiet. He steps up to the wall, leaving the satchel and candle behind him on the ground. He raises a hand to the symbol. His fingers curl, nails catching in the pitted rock. “My dad, he had a symbol like this—in our house—this _whole_ time—”

His voice is trembling, rising, growing louder with each word. He cannot stop shivering, cannot keep his tone calm or his voice even. He feels like he’s been slapped. Everything in this labyrinth—everything in this awful place—everything that has happened. This is the final straw.

Ruddiger, gone; Old Corona, destroyed; his dad, a liar. Varian can’t handle all of it. He can’t. He doesn’t want to. It is the featherlight touch on a pile of precarious stones, it is the movement that sends the whole mountainside tumbling. Varian pulls away from the wall and wraps his arms around him, bowing into himself. It’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not _fair._

“He _lied_ to me!” Varian shouts, eyes shut tight against the familiar burn of tears. “He—why didn’t he tell me? Did he know of this place? I don’t—”

“Varian,” Rapunzel says, and her voice is so soft he almost doesn’t hear her, and then the word registers. He whirls on her, heat pricking at his heart. His vision blurs.

“ _Just_ a symbol,” Varian spits, suddenly furious. “Just a—you saw this, you knew about this symbol the whole damn time, if you had—if you’d told me—”

“Then what,” Rapunzel says. Her face has shuddered closed. Her eyes are dark and shining in the candle-light. Her breathing is labored, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath. “T-then what? What would that have changed?”

“I-I could have—”

She shakes her head and laughs. It’s an ugly sound, bitter and deep and heartfelt, and it breaks in the air. “Every time,” Rapunzel says. “Every time I think we’re past this—this, this happens, why does this keep happening? What are you even _saying,_ Varian?”

Something in her eyes has gone dark. “What,” she whispers, and her voice is twisted, bitter and hurt. “Is this my fault too?”

 _Yes,_ Varian thinks. _Yes,_ he wants to say. _It’s your fault._ But he draws in the breath to speak and the words don’t come, and all at once he finds he can’t say it. He can’t. The words aren’t there anymore, something else has replaced them, and he looks up at Rapunzel and—and then Varian sees, for perhaps the first time—he sees the look on her face.

He sees Rapunzel.

Rapunzel is not looking back. She has turned away, she has tilted her head to the side and closed her eyes. She has pulled back her shoulders and braced her feet on the stone. Standing tall, standing braced, ready to be disappointed. She is waiting for it. She knows exactly what he will say, because Varian has said it over and over, and this has become routine, now, not so much a truth as it is a mantra, and—

Just like that, his fury fades, gone dull and stale in comparison to the ice that floods his veins. Varian feels light-headed.

“No,” he says. The word is soft, shuttered, barely there. It slips out without his say-so and his breathing stutters at the admission. Rapunzel has gone still.

“No,” Varian says, still quiet, and it is only after he’s said it aloud that he realizes the truth of it. “No, I—I didn’t mean—I didn’t want—”

The symbol at his back, Rapunzel before him. Between their feet the candlelight wavers. Bright and glowing and golden, so faint in this dim and dark place.

He watches the candlelight flicker and all at once comprehension dawns on him. “No,” Varian says, “I didn’t mean that,” and then, because suddenly he cannot stop, suddenly the words are out there, and they are not even for Rapunzel, really, they are for him, to himself, an answer to a question Varian has asked over and over, and now he has finally, finally found it—

“It’s not your fault,” Varian says, and suddenly he finds he is not talking about the symbol now. Not really. The words rise up and he cannot stop them. “It—it was never your fault. Was it?”

“…What?”

Varian doesn’t respond; he isn’t really hearing her. He sways on his feet, feeling struck, feeling cold. There is a whirlwind in his head, a whirlwind gone suddenly and terribly quiet. Whispers of memory he cannot escape.  _She has done nothing to you,_ and _It doesn’t change what you’ve done_ , and _I never made you do anything_ , the rough wood of the arrow in his palm and the searing pain of sharp teeth sinking in his ear. He thinks he might be sick.

“Not your fault,” Varian whispers. He is shaking. “Then—then—”

A murmur of a dream in his ears, his own voice gone unkind and unforgiving.  _Who else could possibly be at fault—_

“T-then was I— was _I_ —”

“…Varian?”

— _If not you?_

The amber, the Queen, Cassandra held tight in his automaton’s grasp and that cold choice to keep on squeezing until her bones broke. _Don’t, Varian,_ but he had, and the amber has risen from the rocks. Rapunzel had left him in the cold, and yet— _I’m sorry,_ and _I’m sorry I failed you,_ and only a few hours ago she stood between him and death and a god and did not falter, even after—even after—

“What,” Varian whispers. His voice scrapes in his throat, low and wavering, involuntary and weak. He is trembling. He is bowed over, barely standing, fingers digging into the sleeves of his shirt and breaths wheezing. He is only seconds away from hyperventilating, from breaking completely, he is on the edge of everything, holding on by the tips of his fingers. “What have I—what have I been...?”

What had been the point of it all? What had ever been the point? If he’d been wrong from the start—if Rapunzel is not at fault, no longer at fault, if Varian was _wrong—_ then what if? What if he’d won? He tries to imagine it. If he had succeeded in what he had tried to do, ignoring the problem of the amber… If Varian had trapped the queen, if Rapunzel had died trying to break the amber, if he had killed Cassandra, if he had killed  _Rapunzel…_

 _No,_ Varian thinks, and bows lower. He is shaking. He is shaking so hard he thinks he just might break from the strain of it. He twists his hands in the torn hem of his shirt and tries to breathe.

“Varian!” Rapunzel says. She has stepped closer, she is before him, and she hovers over him like she isn’t sure what to do or what is happening. “What’s wrong?”

Her words draw him out, bring back a sliver of reality. Varian stares up at her and once again the word rises in his throat. Like earlier, with the bandages, and again, when he’d made the bombs, and maybe even from before all that, maybe the words had been building from long ago, from the moment Eugene had shaken him from the stupor and said, “What the hell is your problem,” from the moment Rapunzel had refused to leave him behind, from the instant Ruddiger’s teeth sank in his ear and drove home the truth that Varian had finally gone too far.

He tries to speak and nothing comes.

Varian chokes on the silence, fights against the block. His hands rise up and twist in his tattered shirt, clenching over his heart. He is bowed and trembling and fighting every inch of himself to speak, and he can’t, he can’t, he doesn’t even know what it is he wants to say—

 _“Varian!”_ Rapunzel says again, louder now, her voice high with fear and worry. “Varian, what is it?” Her hands grab at his elbows, keep him upright, and Varian shakes. Her worry, her fear—he doesn’t deserve it. He has hurt her, degraded her, and he has treated her like nothing, like worse than nothing, and even now she is still coming to his aid.

It makes it worse. His eyes burn and he lowers his head, his nails digging into his chest. He can barely keep himself steady, keep himself standing, his breaths short and shallow and quick. There are words rising on his tongue, blocking up his throat, filling up his ears and his eyes and his heart. Never before has Varian found it this hard to speak. It _hurts._ It hurts, and it’s hard, and he hates that even after everything, it’s still so hard to say it.

Rapunzel grips his arm and keeps him on his feet. “Varian—please, please don’t panic, we, we can rest again—” and she doesn’t understand, does she, she doesn’t _know_ , this isn’t a panic attack or blacking out from exhaustion. This is worse, because it is not fear that is driving this, not even grief.

“N-no,” Varian stutters, and she stares at him, expression fallen open in desperation.

“No? I—I don’t—”

“No, no, no—I—I’m—”

Her face twists, and he can see tears in her eyes, shining bright with frustration. “I don’t understand! Varian, we don’t have time for this, I can’t…!”

Her voice rises and she pulls back—she pulls away—she is going to leave him here, she is turning away—

But she’s wrong, that isn’t it, and suddenly the idea of leaving—of walking away, of burying the words for another day, another time, another place—the very idea terrifies him. He can’t. He has kept these words sealed in the back of his mind for months now, for weeks, for days and hours, and Varian knows that if he doesn’t say it now then he will never, ever admit it.

Rapunzel goes to leave, and Varian grabs her arm.

“I’m _sorry!”_

The words are raw and torn. They tear free from his throat, they rake long nails through his voice and pry themselves free from his chest. So simple, and yet, saying them is a physical pain of the likes Varian has never felt.

Rapunzel freezes in place.

“I’m sorry,” Varian says again, faster this time, easier, and the words still tear but all at once the dam is gone. In saying this all the words have abruptly rushed to fill his mind, and he is speaking without thinking, his voice and high and thin and desperate, rambling into the dark. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—”

Rapunzel’s voice is quiet. “Varian—”

“It wasn’t your fault. Was it? I— no, no, you’re right, it _wasn’t,_ it was mine, my actions, my choices—”

“Please—”

“I _did this!_ ” Varian shouts suddenly, and his fingers dig into her forearm. His vision blurs. “You _h-hurt_ me and I wanted, I wanted to hurt you, but—but they didn’t deserve—and, and you _apologized,_ and I still—”

“That’s—”

“I don’t get it,” Varian says, and oh, he’s crying now. He can feel the tears trickling down his face, itching at his eyes and prickling at his skin. “I don’t, I don’t, I would have—you keep _helping_ me, even when I—”

His bad leg buckles, and Rapunzel catches him before he falls, keeping him standing and upright. This time she is silent. Her eyes are wide and her face is pale, lips twisted against her own tears.

“And the amber,” Varian says, and feels something catch and tear in his chest. His voice halts and stutters, breaking on the words. “The amber—D-dad—”

At this, Rapunzel shudders. “No, Varian, that wasn’t what I—”

“Does it matter?” he asks, and his voice rises, hysterical. “D-does it even matter? I, I made the amber, I hurt those people, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t be proud at all, would he? You wouldn’t say it. You didn’t say that. But I knew, I—I _know_ , he’d hate this, he’d hate _me,_ I’ve—I’ve—”

Her hands are tight around his wrists, cotton bandages and blood and _oh,_ he’s awful, her hands are torn to shreds and she is still here, still trying to ground him. Suddenly Varian cannot stand it. He recoils from her touch, stumbling away, falling back hard against the wall. He can feel the carved lines of the symbol burn against his back like an old scar.

“I’m so stupid,” Varian whispers, and something finally clicks. “I’m—I’m such an idiot, I’m a _hypocrite,_ I keep yelling at you and everyone and even D- _D_ _ad_ for lying but _me,_ it’s  _me,_ I’m—I’m the liar. Aren’t I? _I’m_ the liar. I’ve lied and lied and—and—” He can’t finish, the words breaking on a sob, and he presses a hand into the hollow of his eyes and grits his teeth against a scream.

Rapunzel doesn’t say anything. She is still standing there, reaching like she’s surprised he is no longer beside her. Her eyes are wide, her expression open and lost, and she doesn’t say a word. And why would she? What is there to say? What reason is there for _her_ to say it? They aren’t friends. They aren’t even allies. He has hurt her relentlessly for nearly a year and now is the first time he has ever thought to regret it.

Beside her the candlelight wavers. It dances in the darkness and flickers into life. Faint and fading and dying, but still bright enough for him to see her, and to see himself.

“Who was I fooling?” Varian asks, and he isn’t sure who he’s talking to, really, to Rapunzel or to himself or maybe just to no-one. “I—make Dad proud? What… what was I _doing?_ I wouldn’t have—nothing’s  _changed!_ Even I’d won, I still wouldn’t have gotten anywhere! It was useless! It was all—useless!”

“V-Varian—”

“What did I do it for?” he says, and his voice is rising now. He is the liar. He is the one at fault. And suddenly everything he once held true has faltered, every lie is breaking, and he is in too deep to stop now. “I did all that—I did everything—free my dad, my dad—but Dad is—”

Rapunzel straightens very suddenly. She has gone white in the face, a small breath sucked in between her teeth. This time her voice is sharp, urgent. “Varian, stop. Please, you don’t have to—”

“My dad’s dead, isn’t he?”

Rapunzel halts.

Varian stares at her. The words had slipped out—quiet where the rest of his admission had torn, soft where everything else had broken. He watches her face and when she doesn’t say anything more he trembles.

“My dad’s… dead. My dad’s dead. He is. Isn’t he? T-the amber, it’s not—there’s no way. Not really. Right, Rapunzel?”

Her voice is thin. “Varian.”

“My dad’s dead,” Varian says, and the words _fit_ , and he hates them, he has never hated anything more. “He’s d- _dead,_ I killed him, I killed him! I didn’t mean too but— I did. Didn’t I? The amber, I… I thought… I couldn’t…”

She steps closer, expression twisting, hands reaching. “Don’t, you didn’t, that’s not—”

But Varian is not listening. His mind is far-away, his thoughts spiraling. He is sick and tired, he is dying little by little, and in this strange state everything seems clear. He is a million miles away and still talking, the words falling free, every stray thought and understanding and knowing that he’d locked away finally out in the open. “Did you know,” Varian says, to no-one, and he is wavering now, voice and breath shallow as they form the words. “He was, he was always there? He always knew when I messed up. Even after the science expo, he just—he just _knew._ Every time I—I failed, or, or screwed up, or—he was always there, you know? All disappointed and cleaning up my mess and…” 

Rapunzel is before him now, and Varian starts, jolting in surprise, looking up at her. He wants to back away but there’s already a wall at his back, and he watches her face and tries to breathe, and says, “And, and you know what? I made such a mess of things, I hurt—I hurt Cassi—Cassandra, and the Queen—your, your _mom,_ and I made all those robots and hurt all those people and—”

Rapunzel places a tentative hand at his shoulder and he shakes. “And,” Varian forces out, “And, and I was sitting there, after. In the cell. And I waited and I waited and I _waited_ —”

Rapunzel is crying too, now. She doesn’t speak.

“He didn’t come,” Varian tells her, and his vision blurs. “H-he didn’t… He’s not here anymore. He can’t even—all those things, and he’ll never… what, what a joke, right? Make him proud? I can’t even _disappoint_ him anymore!”

“Varian,” she says.

“I’m a failure,” Varian says, nearly snarling the words, and drags his hands through his hair. “I’m a failure and a liar and— I couldn’t save him, I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t _listen—_ and, and now I can’t even, I can’t even do _this_ right.”

He stops. Rapunzel is silent. This whole ruin, this whole tower—silent as a grave, and he can hear his own gasping breaths and the blood roaring in his ears, and he stares at Rapunzel, waiting. She stares back, eyes bright with tears, and doesn’t say a word.

“…Make him proud,” Varian says, finally, so quiet he can hardly hear himself speak. “Make him _proud._ What a joke. What a f-fucking joke. I’m _pathetic_.”

He is aware, distantly, that he is crying. He can feel the tears on his cheeks, can feel the hard pressure behind his eyes and twisting in his throat, the strangling hold at his heart and the pain in his chest. Everything feels too close and yet too far all at once. The candlelight flickers in the air, and the shadows flash across their faces.

Rapunzel hugs him.

He cannot recognize this for what it is, not right away. Her hand rests at the back of his head, guiding him forward. Her hair brushes his shoulder, her other arm tight at his back. His head fits neatly in the crook of her shoulder.

Varian stares blindly into nothing, but the touch grounds him, and when the realization sinks in, his breath hitches and twists. He doesn’t hug her back. His knees give out and they both fall, together kneeling on the ground, Rapunzel holding him and Varian letting himself be held.

“I’m _sorry,_ ” Varian says, and her fingers curl in his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry—”

Her voice is quiet. “It’s okay.”

His breath stutters on a sob. He closes his eyes and hides his face in her shoulder. “I’m _sorry._ ”

“I know,” Rapunzel says. “It’s okay.”

The words are soft, kind, gentle. Impersonal. They are not—I forgive you, all is well, everything is going to be fine. There is too much history and too much hurt for forgiveness. There is too much wrong for this to be enough. There is too much pain for her to ever possibly say such a thing.

Varian apologizes anyway, even if it’s too late, because he thinks he needs to say it, he has to, to Rapunzel especially—because she said _I’m sorry I failed you_ and she stayed with him this whole time, she protected him even after all the awful things he did, and she is still here, even now, he’s told her he’s sorry and she is still the one to help him, to hug him and say, _It’s okay._

He doesn’t deserve it, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” Varian says, and Rapunzel’s arms tighten around him. This time she doesn’t say a word. 

At their backs the candlelight flickers and fades, wavers and thins, beaten down by the darkness. But it does not go out, and its glow is steady even though its flame is weak.

It does not go out, and Varian rests in Rapunzel’s hold, draws in a shaking breath, and starts, piece by piece, to put himself back together again. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAAAA _I’ve finally made it here ohhhhhh my gosh_
> 
> I can’t tell you how relieved I am to post this chapter. Not just because I _finally updated hell yes_ but also because… well, this was— Not only is it the chapter where Varian finally apologizes, Rapunzel and Varian finally work together, and Moon appears in full—but it's also the chapter that I’ve been waiting to write for this whole story. The first big conversation I ever planned was that last scene there. 7 chapters of build up to this big moment. I’m a little teary-eyed, not gonna lie, haha.
> 
> That said, we’ve finally reached the part in Varian’s character arc that I’ve been itching to unveil. That final fight in chapter 7—well, I wasn’t kidding when I said that was his final attempt at proving all his lies to himself. That was it. That was all he had left.  
> For most of this fic, he’s been spiraling. He started out angry, and then after chapter four became desperate—and now, with the end of this chapter, he's reached a new stage in his journey. I am so, so excited. It’s definitely not going to be smooth sailing, but this was a huge hurdle and I can’t believe we’ve finally reached this point. Ohh my god. Just. AAHHHH I AM SO EXCITED I FINALLY GOT TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU ALL…….
> 
> (Also, a quick note regarding Rapunzel—she doesn’t hate Varian. She just doesn’t know what to say, and furthermore, it was kinda important to me to show that even though they have now both apologized, it doesn’t make everything better, it doesn’t mean all is forgiven. This is the first true step, not the ending.)
> 
> Anyways, though, just know this story is still going! Chapter nine is gonna be a DOOZY, and if all goes well I plan on finishing this fic by December! (If only so I can start part 2 in 2019, ahaha). Sadly, updates will still be very slow—school is cracking down on me, unfortunately. I can’t say when Chapter Nine will be out— hopefully November? —but at the very least I hope this monster of a chapter is enough to ease the wait!!
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your support and love for this fic. Your comments, kind messages, and love for this story brings me so much joy. Thank you for reading this story. Thank you for telling me what you love about it! Talking with you all has been such a treat. I am so happy to have met you all this year. 
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!! 
> 
> Till next time! And please, let me know your thoughts!! ❤️
> 
> Edit: Chapter 9 will be posted on December 7th! See you guys soon!


	9. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BACK. AT LASTTT
> 
> I know I keep saying “this is the longest chapter thus far” every time I make a new update, but I’m being very serious right now. This is, quite literally, the longest chapter. Please take your time! And know I will never write anything of this length ever again because asjadsgfkjg dear fucking god. No. No. This thing came to life and tried to murder me, okay, it has too much power.
> 
> Before we get started, I just want to say a big thank you to my dear friend Fae, who helped me solve an issue with the plot of the chapter. Her suggestion shaped almost the entirety of Eugene and Cassandra’s scenes, so this chapter literally could not have existed without her help. Thank you so much, my friend!!
> 
> Also, that being said, I know I haven’t replied to many of your comments yet, and I'm really sorry!! School has been eating so much of my time recently, but I promise I will reply as soon as I’m free!! Just know that I read and re-read each and every one, and they make me smile every time. Thank you all so much your feedback, your support, your kudos, your enthusiasm and love for this fic. For this chapter especially, after the past few months… you guys are why I managed to write this at all ❤️ Thank you all so, so much.
> 
> (A quick reminder, by the way, that dream scenes do not occur chronologically. While the scene is at the start of the chapter, the actual time the dream takes place may be much later. Just a head’s up!)
> 
>  **Warnings for:** character death, asphyxiation, choking, the threat of breaking bones, near-death experiences, grief, cruel and merciless treatment, death and corpses, mentions of past child abuse and past injuries. If there’s anything you think I missed, please let me know and I will add it on here.
> 
> (…also, listen, okay, I know that looks bad but we’re so close to the happy ending, you guys. We’re _so close_. YOU JUST. YOU GOTTA TRUST ME. It's going to be alright!)
> 
> With that all said, Chapter IX: The End, commence!

_Varian kneels at an amber grave._

_He does not look up. He does not dare. He knows the truth, now, and with this understanding the whole world rings hollow. This empty lab, this broken home full of useless machines, failures twice over. No matter what he built or how hard he tried, nothing changed. The amber never cracked, and the man Varian tried to save has been dead all along._

_So he doesn’t look. Varian kneels on a cold stone floor caked with dust, and watches his hands instead, the chains dangling from his arms. Iron shackles coiled skintight around his wrists, the dark gray metal like ash against his pale skin. Constricting and unyielding, near unbearable, tethering Varian to the ground. He has seen these chains many times before, in reality and in dreams both, but for the first time in a very long time, Varian’s eyes are finally open._

_He holds out his wrists before himself like an offering and turns his palms up and open to the air. The dull glow of the amber casts deep shadows down the length of his outstretched arms. The edge of the metal cuffs shines gold._

_Varian reaches out and grips his right wrist, pressing cool fingers flat against his skin. The edge of the manacle rubs against the side of his hand; the metal is so cold it aches. Beneath his grip, he can feel a low thrum. Something soft and low, a heartbeat stuttering and failing, faltering under his fingertips._

_He is running out of time._

_Varian breathes in, breathes out. Repetition and comfort in one action. Warm breath fogs the air; an icy inhale burns his sore throat. But he cannot delay any longer, and he finds he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have much left to lose, and so there is no reason to wait._

_Varian looks up at the amber, past the glow and the shadow of his dad’s corpse, and meets the eyes of his reflection. His face—his own person—but different, somehow. Bright eyes and a crescent grin, poisonous words that don’t sound like his own. The reflection smiles down at him, venom in the bare of its teeth, but Varian just watches._

_“I know,” he says, half to himself. “I know. You were right. It was me. It’s all wrong, and that’s… that was me.” There’s nothing left for him here. Not really. Dust and debris and icy wind. It’s been months, and this place hasn’t been home for a very long time._

_“I did this.”_

_The reflection’s smile falters and then fades at his words. For a moment it looks almost tired—world-weary and ancient, an unfamiliar grief etched across its face. The surface of the amber shudders, gold glare rippling out like water. His reflection vanishes under the distortion, and when the light settles a new face has taken its place. A woman, inexplicable and strange._

_And yet. It almost feels as if Varian should know her. There is something oddly familiar about her eyes, her smile, the shape of her face—everything. But her eyes, most of all: brilliant and shining, yellow-white like the harvest moon Dad always said was there to protect them._

Well then, _says the woman in the amber._ If you are so sure. What will you do now, boy?

_Varian closes his eyes. Dad is gone, and not all stories are true. But this much he knows for certain. The lab is cold and empty. The amber, these machines, this dusty and icy place… it is dead and gone, lost the right to be called either house or home._

_He is so tired of this. Of being here, of being trapped, of being chained. Unable to move forward, and unable to move on._

_Varian is tired._

_He lifts his hand and this time his fingers lock around the manacle. The cold metal burns. Varian curls his fingers into the lock and pries the iron from his wrist._

_The cuffs remove easily. Unlocked, always unlocked, if only he’d had the will to see it._

_The shackles fall and the iron shatters against the ground, fragile as ice. At the moment of impact, his lab shudders and shakes, the walls cracking open like eggshells—and then it bursts, vanishing before his eyes._

_._

_._

_._

_Varian kneels at a crossroads._

_The world is shadowed and blue, engulfed in a thick fog, the air heavy and weighted on his bowed shoulders. Beneath his knees, black stone shines with ivory light, unbreakable and unyielding. Where he rests, the path splits, spiraling off into two directions, each road leading into a great and terrible unknown._

_He is alone here, except: he is not alone. The lab, the reflection, the woman in the mirror. Varian climbs slowly to his feet and stares out into the fog._

_“I know you’re listening,” he says, and when he looks again she is already there, standing tall beside him._

Here again, _the woman says, and she almost sounds disdainful._ Every time I look away, you create this place anew. I did not make this dream for you.

_Varian looks back to the crossroads. The mist swirls before him, all-consuming and deceptively calm. “I know,” he says. “Hello, Moon.”_

_The Moon doesn’t respond. She looks down at him, and her eyes are cold. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She is waiting._

_“I don’t know why I come here either,” Varian informs her, and looks out into the mist, wondering absently how far it goes. “I guess… at some point, along the way, I realized I had a choice to make too.”_

Your choices do not matter, _the Moon says._ It does not have to be you. You are not the one I was testing.

_“I figured,” says Varian, and then he shrugs. The lack of rattling chains should disturb him, he thinks, but he barely notices their absence at all. He is not sure if this is a good thing. “But that doesn’t mean I still don’t have a choice.”_

Why does it matter, what you chose?  _the Moon asks, and her head tilts, glowing gaze weighted with consideration._ You have run out of time. It will not make any difference.

_“Maybe.”_

This is as far as you will ever go. It is meaningless, in the end.

_“Maybe,” Varian repeats, in a whisper. He turns back to look at her. Her eyes are so cold, and for some reason this saddens him. She doesn’t care what he has to say. This is a game to her, and Varian is merely a pawn. It doesn’t have to be him, here. His role is not important. He is not the one she cares about, but then, that is not the point._

It has to be me,  _he’d said, once. And even if those words weren’t for him, he’ll take them anyway. He’s had practice, after all, when it comes to taking things that don’t belong to him. Sundrop flowers and human lives and a choice._

_“Maybe,” Varian says. “But even if… if this is as far as I’ll ever go, then that’s far enough.”_

_What he doesn’t say: It’s better than not moving on at all._

_The Moon looks down at him for a long time, and he wonders if she can hear the unspoken, if she knows what he’s thinking—if it matters to her at all. He wonders why she’s here with him in the first place. What does she gain from this? What drives her? Is it curiosity? Boredom? Or perhaps—_

_Maybe she is also looking for an answer._

_Whatever it is, Varian will never know. The Moon tilts her head, almost a bow, and for a moment those bright unblinking eyes slide shut._ Goodbye, child, _says the Moon, at long last. She lifts her head and opens her eyes, and her face is as cold as ever._ You were a good puppet, for a time. Your help has been invaluable. But all in all…  

 _She smiles. It is not a kind expression._ I am simply overjoyed to see you go.

_Varian blinks, and by the time his eyes flutter open again she is already gone, leaving only the fog and crossroads behind her. He rubs absently at his wrist and turns away. There is no sense in arguing with a ghost._

_Even as he considers this, the dream darkens, eternity tightening like a noose around his neck. The Moon isn’t wrong, at least not about this. Varian has run out of time._

_Varian turns to the crossroads, the twin roads he has seen so many times before, and ignores the offered paths entirely. When he slips through the mist—off the path and out into the open unknown, walking through the fog—there is no pain, no resistance. It is as far as he’ll ever go, and so there is no need to stop him._

_He walks on into the mist, uncertain of where to go, moving on regardless. The fog clusters around him, formless and all-consuming, deep and dark like the heart of a lake: still waters, bottomless depth, endless possibility for what lies beneath that frozen surface._

_She steps out of the fog as if she has always been there. In this world Rapunzel is as he remembers her to be, smiling and clean-faced, no blood on her hands or torn hems. She stands there half-submerged in the mists, hands clasped behind her back and eyes warm, the ghost of a smile on her face._

_Varian looks up at her, and Rapunzel looks back at him, patient to the end. Her head tilts, considering; at once she smiles and takes her hands out from behind her back. She holds out her hand to him—offering, beckoning, waiting._

_Varian smiles back. This is as far as he’ll ever go, but then: he had meant what he said. This is far enough._

_He takes her hand, and Rapunzel curls her fingers around his palm and laughs._

_A pale glow ignites the air around them. The fog shies away from them, light breaking up the mists. The earth beneath their feet begins to crumble, turns to rubble, turns to ash. The dust flies up in the air like fireflies, a hurricane of ruin and smoke._

_“Thank you, Varian,” Rapunzel says, and the world burns gold, as fierce and as blinding as the sun. “Let’s go on together.”_

 

-

 

For the first time in over twenty years, Adira returns to her Kingdom.

It is not, strictly speaking, entirely true—she has returned here before, lingered on the fringes and watched month by month as the rocks rose in the place of the towns and cities, as houses crumbled into rubble and then into nothing, as the trees died and lakes dried into dust. But this is the first time she has truly returned. She has never quite dared to approach the tower after King Edmund ordered her away and the Moon smiled at her back. For the first time in over twenty years, Adira is seeing her kingdom from within, instead of on the fringes.

She doesn’t recognize it at all.

The differences she’d noted from the distance are even more striking up close. Even the air is different now, even the earth has shifted. There used to be life here. Maybe the sun never quite shone as bright, and maybe summer warmth never quite took, but they had lived here. They had survived here.

She cannot imagine anyone living here now. The earth has broken, gone flat and dusty beneath her boots, soft and crumbly like sand. The air is so cold it hurts to breathe, and the world is horribly silent. There is wind, and the wailing echoes of the night… but no birds sing, no animals live in the fringes. There is no more life, not in the earth and not in the air, and it makes Adira furious to see it.

She walks with sharp and purposeful strides, refusing to linger on the implications or her memories. It doesn’t matter, what has happened in the years since she left. She has not returned to confront the past; she is here to secure the future, and Adira refuses to fail again.

At her back, her new companions follow her lead without comment. For how little Adira has told them, for all the danger that lies ahead—despite this, her companions are quiet. Their eyes rest heavy on Adira’s back, their suspicion and uncertainty easy to see. Still, they don’t ask Adira any of their no-doubt endless questions.

She’s glad of it; she warned them herself that there was much she couldn’t afford to say. It’s nice to know they listened. After all, night has fallen and the moon is high, and while Adira doubts the Moon is listening right at this moment, it is better safe and silent than talkative and later very, _very_ sorry.

Even so, she is almost impressed. It takes a lot of nerve to follow someone blindly in the devil’s den without a clue of what’s going on. The silence must be maddening for them. Adira, for her part, basks in the fleeting calm. She knows it isn’t going to last, so it is nice to have it while it’s here.

It is pitch dark at this time of night—deep in the midnight hours, practically tomorrow already. Above them, the moon is full and bright, solemn and swollen with power. The cold and barren earth is covered in trailing lines of frost, thick blue mists seeping across the landscape. In this strange mix of darkness and moonlight, the dim impressions of the towering black rocks are like hidden giants, a danger unseen until they are nearly nose-to-nose with it. It has taken them hours to make their way back to the mountain and the Moon’s Tower. They navigate the deadly maze of rock and mist with careful steps.

The only beast moving with any sort of confidence at all is, ironically, the horse. Considering how she originally thought the white horse would spook upon approaching the mountain, its bravery is something of an amusement. She’d been baffled when Eugene had insisted the horse come along—the other staying behind with the rest of those tiny animal friends the princess appears to collect—but the beast is oddly steady. Other than normal nerves, the strange creature seems content to stay with the group thus far.

 _Guard horse,_ Adira thinks to herself. The Dark Kingdom—the Brotherhood specifically—used to have similar, way back when. That was long ago, though; Adira has not ridden a horse in ages. She’s forgotten how uncannily brave those trained beasts could be.

And humans too, of course. Cassandra, standing tall with her hand on the hilt of a sword. Eugene, gripping at a frying pan like it’s enough of a weapon to carry him through. Stupid, but brave, and Adira can respect that much. It’s not often she meets so many brave beings at one time.

Good sign? Well, possibly. Adira does hope. At the very least, there are more annoying people she could be dying beside. These two have the benefit of being almost funny.

“We’re almost there,” she announces, after enough time and distance has passed, keeping her gaze locked ahead. She can hear their steps shift, the attention turning to her.  “Be ready.”

Eugene rests a hand on the horse’s neck. Adira can see the faint shine of sweat on his brow. “Almost there,” he repeats, a little too loud for Adira’s comfort. There’s an awkward twang to his voice, a nervous note that makes her wince. “How, uh… how soon is almost?”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye and then clasps her hands at the base of her spine, looking back ahead. “Soon.” A pause. She hears him sigh, deep and annoyed, and bites back a small smile before amending, “Another half-hour, give or take a few minutes.”

Walking at his side, Cassandra gives Eugene a grim look, an expression of solidarity. He straightens at her regard, nodding back, and the ghost of a smile flickers across the girl’s wan face. Adira looks away, and is surprised by the smile on her own face at the sight, despite the danger. They remind her of herself and Quirin, the people and friends that they used to be, once upon a time.

“So,” Cassandra says, after another short pause. “I was wondering. Are you ever going to tell us the plan, or…?”

“It’s better if I don’t,” Adira replies absently, nearly once again word-for-word what she said earlier. She squints off into the dark. They _are_ close; the black rocks are clustering a lot more now. Perhaps her half-hour estimate was too much. “The walls have ears and all that.”

Besides. She’s not sure where to begin explaining, and she suspects they’d be more panicked if they knew just how chancy her plan is. She doesn’t even know if it will _work,_ and if it does… well.

Even if they survive… there is no guarantee their actions will help the Sundrop in her quest at all. It could be useless. It could be worse than useless. It is a plan built off guesswork and desperation, even after twenty years of scheming. But it’s the only sort of plan one can make when facing off against a creature as dangerous and unpredictable as the Moon.

And so: “Ignorance is bliss,” says Adira, and this time neither of them question her on it. Possibly they might already suspect. They’ve all grown up on these tales after all; the one they know presents Moon far more violently than even the ones Adira heard growing up. It could be they understand enough as-is, enough to know to keep quiet.

The silence returns again, after that. The fog is thickening around them, transforming from a thin mist to a heavier smog. It is getting harder and harder to tell what is shadow of black stone and what is just darkness. The white horse nickers, something quiet and alarmed.

Eugene reaches out and calms the creature before Adira can think to speak. He presses his lips in a thin line, and rubs his hand down the horse’s mane. The white horse pounds its hooves against the hard earth and tosses its head, but doesn’t run.

“It’s odd,” Eugene says finally. His voice is very quiet, hand still resting on the horse’s flank. “The last time we came to the mountain…”

Adira doesn’t look at him. “The animals spooked?”

“…Yeah.”

She nods. It makes sense. “Animals are clever,” Adira informs him, eyeing the mists. It won’t be long now. “They know when things aren’t right. When you arrived in this land… well.” She shrugs, opening her palms to the sky. “The Moon watched the Sundrop, and so she was watching you. Perhaps they felt her gaze.”

The girl— _Cassandra_ , damn it—glances up at this. “So if Maximus isn’t spooking now…”

“She’s ignoring us,” Adira murmurs, and gives a grim smile. Yet another legend that apparently holds a seed of truth. That’s good. The more legends ring true, the more likely this will work. It would be terrible to die before even getting a chance to enact her plan. Years of preparation gone to waste. Adira’s informant would be furious.

“…And you’re sure this will help Rapunzel?”

“Yes.” Her hand goes to her pack, fingers brushing the item hidden deep in the folds. Months of searching, weeks of angry letters, but Adira’s connections have served her well, and her information had served her better. “Or at least, it might buy her some time.”

“That’s _it?”_

Adira smiles, amused at their disbelief. What sort of plan were they expecting, exactly? It’s one thing to have a fair fight—entirely another to go against a creature like the Moon. Honestly.

“Time is valuable,” Adira replies lightly. “A great deal of things can happen when you aren’t looking. Sometimes those things make all the difference.”

They don’t answer.

“It’s the best bet we have,” Adira tells them flatly, and takes one last step forward.

Before her, the shadows stretch and contort, a dim reflection of Adira’s own face. She reaches out a hand and her bare palm touches cold stone. She runs her hands width-wise along the rock, and finds a wall instead of a lone cluster.

They have reached the mountain.

In this midnight darkness, the summit is just barely visible, thick walls of dark rock glowing faintly in the moonlight. The moon rests above and behind it like some bastardized version of a crown. This close, the whole world has gone still. Even the wind has stopped blowing, the animal restless, her companions tense.

Adira wraps one hand around her sword hilt, and reaches the other into her pack. Her bare fingers curl around warm crystal.

Years of searching, all for this. Not an assured victory by any means, but a chance. A chance to fight back. A chance to set destiny to rights. All the myths and stories of the Moon, and the one constant in each—the Sun and Moon are always together. Always tied to one another. If there is anything in this earth to draw the Moon from hiding…

 _A flute,_ her informant had written to her, barely five months ago. _The old priests, back when the stories were faith instead of fable, used to set them upon open-air alters as they prayed. They carved them from stone and crystal. It took years. Legends say that when the wind blew through the flutes of the Sun…_

_…You could almost hear her singing._

The Sun and the Moon, endlessly intertwined. Enemies, lovers, strangers, friends. If there is one being that could almost certainly catch the Moon’s attention, it would be the Sun. And if Adira cannot call down the Sun directly, then she will make do with an echo of her voice.

Adira looks back over her shoulder, and sees the others waiting for her signal. In a different universe, in a different world… perhaps they would never have come here. Perhaps she could have met them under different, _better_ circumstances, in a fight that won’t risk their lives. But in a world like that—hah!

Perhaps Adira would be different, too.

At her nod, they ready themselves for the fight. Frying pan in the hands of Eugene Fitzherbert, spare sword in the white-knuckled grip of Cassandra. Even the horse—it pulls a spare sword from the sheath on its saddle and wields the blade with a weird expertise that has Adira raising one eyebrow in bemusement. They are ready—as ready they’ll ever be, at any rate, and that is good enough.

“Brace yourselves,” Adira says, a warning and declaration both, and then she reaches in her pack and pulls free the flute. A lump of crystal about the width of her fist and as long as her arm, shaped and coiled to mimic a giant fish hook, orange-yellow like a sunset and riddled with holes. Through the clear mineral she can see her skin distorted by the crystal, her veins colored gold.

Adira holds the flute of the Sun up to the wind, and waits for the song to start.

 

-

 

It takes a long time before Varian finally goes quiet.

He is still crying, she thinks, though it has eased somewhat; gone from hiccups and shaking to something noiseless and hidden, weak tears and shallow breathing. Rapunzel herself can still feel a sharp sting behind her own eyes. No matter how awful he acted or what he’d done, Rapunzel has never liked to see anyone get hurt, not even Varian. And this…

Rapunzel can hardly think about what has brought them to this point—brought them here. His angry accusations when he saw the symbol, and then that awful silence, the quiet breaking behind the eyes. His regret, and his apology, the soft shuddering horror in his voice when he spoke. Her mind shies away from it. She just—can’t. She never imagined—she never thought he’d ever—

It is more than Varian taking responsibility. It is more than an apology. It is an acknowledgment.

_I’m sorry._

Like something from a dream, only Rapunzel could never mistake it for such a thing. In the rare few instances she had entertained the possibility of an apology, her expectations had been idealistic. He would apologize, and she would forgive him… something bright, better, _healing._ The reality is none of that. He’d fought with every word and cried the whole time, like it was killing him, and in apologizing to her, he has discovered a more horrible kind of truth.

_My dad’s dead, isn’t he?_

Rapunzel shudders at the memory, closing her eyes against another wave of tears. She’s already hugging Varian—her arms wrapped tight around him—but at this reminder she squeezes him closer, trying to give some semblance of comfort, no matter how small. After so long kneeling in this position her arms are beginning to twinge, her hands shaky with small spasms. She doesn’t let go.

It hurts to hug him. She can’t deny that it hurts, not when every motion seems to jar her wounds anew. Her hands feel like she’s set them aflame and let them burn; her knees ache from being pressed against the stone for so long. She is sore and tired and hurting head to toe, and more than that: this is Varian. This is the boy who insulted her and hurt her and snapped at her even after everything. He tried to kill Cass. He tried to kill her mom. He tried to kill her. He took every chance and every apology and threw it in her face.

_I’m sorry!_

They were friends once, Rapunzel thinks. But that truth has been buried by all that came after. His actions, her hesitations; his betrayal, her mistakes. But Varian is this, too: the boy who smiled and said _alchemy!_ like he was laughing, who translated the poem in the ruins without comment, who bandaged her bleeding hands and asked her—for once quiet, for once careful—why she had helped him, and then listened to the answer.

So Rapunzel hugs Varian best she can, because someone must, and because even after everything, he doesn’t deserve to be alone. Even if he’s the boy who hurt her and the people she loved, he’s also the boy who lost his father too soon, who felt betrayed and abandoned by someone who promised to help. He has been paying for his mistakes since the moment he made them, and Rapunzel isn’t one for revenge, and she isn’t one for payback.

And so, despite everything: Rapunzel stays.

 He doesn’t hug her back, of course, but that doesn’t really bother her. Things have changed, but too much has happened. They cannot return to how they once were. Just because he’s apologized doesn’t mean he forgives her. Just because Varian has said he’s sorry doesn’t mean that Rapunzel has forgiven _him._

She wishes she could forgive him, a little bit. If not for him, then for herself. But she’s learned her lesson from those weeks ago, that disastrous fireside conversation—for all that she wants the conflict over, her own heart is still angry.

Rapunzel doesn’t think he’s forgiven _her_ , either, all things considered, so maybe forgiveness isn’t really the point. Maybe—maybe it is enough to have apologized at all. To mean it.

Maybe that’s enough.

She hopes so. She doesn’t know what else to do—what else she is willing to give. He doesn’t like her, and in truth being stuck in a labyrinth with her has probably been a hell of its own sort for him, as it has been for her… but Rapunzel is all Varian has left. She’s the only one here. It’s a pressure that weighs heavy on her, but for all that she doesn’t know what to think of Varian… neither does it feel right to just let him cry alone.

She doesn’t know what else to do, so she hugs him close and hopes that it’s enough.

Time passes—unnoticed, untraceable, marked only by the flickering candle at their back and the wax pooling in the brass holder. The moment stretches taut and then snaps like a wire.

Varian is the first to pull away from the hug. His sobs ease into silence and then into stillness, and she can feel him tense in her arms as awareness returns to him. His shoulders go taut, and after a long moment he tries to twist free from her grasp.

Rapunzel lets go immediately, unwilling to trap him. Varian inches back, exhaling with a soft breath, settling down on his knees. His breathing is ragged and thin, skin washed-out and ruddy from his crying. He sniffs hard and shakes his head, digging the heel of his palm against red-rimmed and swollen eyes. The chains on his wrist clink and jangle with every move.

He seems younger, like this, without his usual film of anger.

Varian doesn’t look at her. His expression is entirely unreadable, half-hidden behind his fingers. His breathing sounds shallow. She can’t tell if the shine on his face is from tears or a pained sweat. But even then…

He doesn’t meet her eyes, but he doesn’t back away any farther.

“We… We have to go,” Varian says at last. His voice is thin, tired; kinder than she is used to hearing from him, strangely bereft of his usual hostility. He tangles his fingers in the frayed hem of his shirt and stares at the marble tower floors. “We have to… the golem…”

He’s not wrong, but Rapunzel shakes her head anyway, hesitating for only a moment. “If you need time—”

“Probably,” Varian says, cutting her off. The interruption isn’t mean, but it is pointed. His words could be wry if he didn’t also sound like he’s about to cry.

Rapunzel goes quiet.

After a long pause, Varian looks up at her. His expression is wretched, uncertain—he doesn’t seem to know how to meet her eyes. His hands are shaking. “Probably,” he repeats, a little softer, the edge fading from his words. “But we don’t have time.”

Rapunzel bites the inside of her cheek and closes her eyes, breathing in through her nose. She knows what he’s referring to: the golem. She still can’t hear anything that might indicate it’s close—no scrap of stone, no awful screeching. And yet. That doesn’t mean it isn’t far behind them. It is there. It is coming.

The Moon had promised, after all.

“No,” Rapunzel says, at last. She opens her eyes slowly, staring up at the shadowy and distant ceiling of the ruin. The candlelight only goes so far—beyond the wall with the symbol, a halo of yellow light, the tower is utterly unknown to her. There could be anything out there, in the places they can’t see. Golems, black rocks, or gods with a smile that could cut them in two.

“No,” Rapunzel repeats, and the concession wearies her. “I guess we don’t.”

She takes another breath to steady herself, decision made, then rocks up onto her feet with a quick motion. She regrets it almost immediately; her head spins, and she clenches her teeth against the nausea. When the urge to vomit fades, she opens her eyes and takes another breath. She can do this. If she takes things one at a time, she can do this.

Varian is still sitting, looking down at the floor with a vacant expression. Rapunzel only hesitates for a moment before offering her arm.

His expression flickers, a bit of life returning to his eyes. He blinks at her, looking somewhere between startled and confused.

Rapunzel doesn’t take back her hand, and tries for a thin smile. “…Your leg, right?” His shoulders ride up toward his ears, head dropping low, and she winces. “It’s… um, it’s okay to need help.”

“I—” His glance at his own leg is uneasy, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t look at her again, and Rapunzel can understand why. She can hardly bear to meet his eyes, herself. “But your hands…”

Her smile gentles into something real. His concern is—nostalgic, in a sad way. But heartening, too. Barely a day ago he’d have snapped at her for trying to help him at all. The change, slight though it is, makes her heart pang. He was a friend, and in a way only a distant one, but… is it strange to say she missed him?

“Grab my forearm, then. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.” This is a white lie, of sorts—any movement hurts. But Varian… Varian doesn’t need to know that. This guilt, at least, she thinks she can spare him from.

Her reassurance mollifies him. He nods, almost to himself, then reaches up to grip her forearm and elbow. With Rapunzel helping, Varian slowly levers up to his feet, heavily favoring his right side. The many tumbles and inordinate amount of time spent kneeling against the unforgiving floor, while perhaps what Varian needed emotionally, has clearly extracted its toll on the leg.

So perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise to them, when he places his injured foot down and almost immediately crumples. It still stuns her. The response is so immediate she almost has no time to react—Varian sets his foot on the ground and at once lists to the side, bad knee buckling.

Rapunzel just barely catches him before he topples back into the wall. “Varian!?”

His grip is tight at her shoulder. What little color remaining has drained from his face, his pupils shrunk to pinpricks. “I—”

“Are you—?”

“It—it _hurts,_ ” he forces out, teeth grit. “I—it—I, I can’t—I can’t walk.” Horrified realization steals across his face, and his mouth snaps shut. His fingers dig into her arm. He takes three short breathes, strangled and tight, and when he finally manages to speak again his voice is thin and wavering, fragile as glass. “M-my leg, I can’t…”

Rapunzel presses her lips in a thin line, trying to keep calm. The fear in his eyes makes her heart ache. “O-okay,” she says. Her voice is soft, calm in contrast to his distress. “Okay. That’s okay. I’ll—”

She hesitates, looking back over her shoulder. The candle is still resting on the ground from where Varian had placed it before, next to her satchel. With the black rocks so scattered and distanced in this tower, and her unable to touch the stone directly… “Can you lean against the wall, just for a moment? I’ll be right back.”

He hesitates, but eventually nods, sharp and awkward. Rapunzel helps him lean against the wall and rubs at his shoulder when he shudders. When he pulls away, he closes his eyes and makes a physical effort to calm his breathing.

Rapunzel leaves him there and turns back to the satchel.

It takes her a few minutes of awkward maneuvering to figure out how best to gather their things without crippling them more in the process. Between his leg and her hands, they are both of them limited now in what they can and cannot do.

She starts with the satchel first—edged up her arm and across her shoulders after a few minutes of delicate manipulated motion. The candle is a more difficult venture, and eventually Rapunzel decides to cut her losses, cupping the brass holder in both bandaged palms and gamely ignoring the painful pressure on her hands as she carefully carries the candle back to Varian.

With their things gathered, there is no more reason to delay. Varian takes the light in one hand and slings the other over Rapunzel’s shoulder at her prompting, his iron handcuff cold against her collar even through her clothes. Rapunzel in turn grips his side with the flat of her forearm, taking his weight off the injured leg, supporting him the only way she can.

It’s awkward, of course. Varian cannot look at her, and Rapunzel is well aware of that. But after all this time in the labyrinth, they are starting to learn how to rely on each other.

And finally, after nearly an hour of crying and fighting and breakdowns long overdue—Rapunzel and Varian leave the second tower room and its comet-crest symbol behind them, moving forward at last.

Limping, injured, and worn out from tears—but still moving, and there’s victory in that. Rapunzel has never been more grateful to leave a place behind her. When the giant comet-like symbol on the wall finally fades back into the shadows, she sighs in something like relief.

This time around they are far luckier in their search for an exit. In this part of the tower, the walls and ceiling are more intact, the doorways uninhibited, the stray clusters of black rocks less disruptive. They leave the second room behind in no time at all, and the third room even faster. Rapunzel almost thinks it might be her imagination, but the rooms feel as if they are getting smaller; the rocks less frequent, the distance narrowing in. She has the strange sense that they are walking in circles, except that none of the rooms look familiar—not an endless loop, then, but a controlled one. A tower shaped like a snail shell, perhaps, each room smaller and closer to the spiral than before, which means, at the end of it… in the center of the spiral…

Towers are meant to go _up_ , Rapunzel knows. They will not be staying on this ground floor for much longer.

Her suspicions are proven correct only a few rooms later. They limp out of the latest domed door into a room about the width and size of Rapunzel’s own old tower, the shadowy walls dim but completely visible even in the contained flicking light of their candle. There are no more exits. Here the rocks break through completely, glittering stone spikes all pointed up at a shadowy gloom. The walls are built of dark stone, as cold and as reflective as the crystal hall where Rapunzel and Varian had last faced the golem. This last room is lone and circular, and unlike the rest of the tower, it holds no chests, no other doors, no symbols.

Only a staircase, black stone and a winding path, coiling up to the sky.

Rapunzel follows the path, looking up as far as she can go. She cannot see much past the candlelight, but far above her head, deep in the darkness that shadows them, she can almost see a pinprick of light. A single star in a sea of blackness, a lone light in the dark labyrinth.

Her breaths fog in the icy chill, dust tickling at her throat. She doesn’t know how she feels, whether it is fear or anticipation that makes her blood run cold. Regardless—it strikes her as almost fitting, in a way.

Rapunzel’s story began in a tower. Now her journey will end in one.

Beside her, Varian gives a weak, trilling laugh and slumps heavily against her side. His skin is feverish, his gaze distant and unfocused. “Only way left to go is up,” he says, almost to himself, and giggles again.

It’s not really that funny, but Rapunzel tries for a smile anyway. He’s right, after all. If Rapunzel knows anything about towers, it’s that the top tends to be the end. Once they climb these stairs…

They’ll have reached the end of the labyrinth, and with luck, the end of this road.

“It does look that way,” Rapunzel replies, studying the worn steps. She tries not to think about how tall the tower is. She tries not to think how many stairs there might be. She tries not to wonder how they will fare, with a golem at their back and a steep slope to climb with only one pair of working legs and hands between them.

She focuses instead on what she still has. Candlelight, the strength to walk, the determination to keep going. And Varian, too. It matters, that he’s here. Even if they aren’t quite friends… she can’t call him an enemy anymore, if she ever could at all. He’s here. He’s with here. No matter what lies ahead… she won’t be alone.

This knowledge heartens her. She closes her eyes and pulls back her shoulders, settling her feet flat on the ground. Bracing herself, preparing herself. Even if she doesn’t feel it, Rapunzel can still pretend to be strong. If not for herself, then for Varian.

“Alright, then,” Rapunzel says. “Let’s… let’s get going.”

At her side, Varian gives the barest hint of a nod, and Rapunzel spares a moment to try and smile at him. Then she steels herself for the pain and tightens her one-armed grip around his waist. She stands at the edge of the staircase and takes in one final breath. She holds it. Then she lets go.

When she takes that first step of many, her hands are shaking, but her eyes are flinty and unwavering. She does not hesitate, and she does not tremble.

And halfway up, when she hears a distant echoing shriek of rock against rock, that shrill sound that marks the golem’s passage—her heart falls, but her steps never falter.

 

-

 

Adira raises the flute up to the wind, and for a moment, there is nothing.

Cassandra waits with bated breath, watching for the slightest hint of movement. Her hand grips her sword so tightly it aches in her bones. The slightest noise makes her flinch, eyes darting to and fro. She is ready, now. She knows the name of the enemy they are facing and she knows a little of what to expect. The Moon is brisk winds and icy pressure, silent attacks and casual maiming. She’ll sooner make the earth erupt into spikes than she would ever show herself, but that isn’t what they need.

It’s not enough to capture her ire. What they need is her attention, and that is a much harder task.

Adira had been certain, however. _I have something she will want,_ she had said, before night fell and all talks of the plan had been hushed. _I have something to call her out._

Cassandra grips the hilt of her borrowed sword, calms her nerves, and watches. The thing in Adira’s hand—it _looks_ like a flute, just doubled in size and curved like some skinny closed-end cornucopia, looking more like some bizarre artifact than an instrument. It’s the other details that make her think of flutes, in the end—she can see where holes have been whittled into the clear yellow crystal, strange hollows tunneling throughout, though none of the nicks match up to human fingers. It is a flute too big to hold and impossible to play.

Adira doesn’t even bother trying. She grips the crystal oddly, tilting her wrist back and forth to expose the hollows of the flute the sky, held sideways and up to the wind. Her expression is calm, near serene. She looks as if she is carved from stone herself, immovable and eternal. As if she could wait forever.

Cassandra doesn’t understand, but she doesn’t need to do. She bites her tongue and watches, waiting for the cue.

At first, she doesn’t notice any change. The sound is so faint she almost thinks she’s imagining it, a noise borne from her own fear and expectation. But then the wind picks up, and so does the music.

The wind roars through the offered flute like a divine player, every breath reverberating into music. The music starts quiet, soft and simple, a whisper in the mist. Then the wind picks up, and so does the song. It rises and rises and rises, rings out clear and distinct over the empty plain, echoes off the mountain and the lone rock spires standing tall like a deadly forest at their backs. A flute impossible to play with human hands, its music called out by the grace of the wind.

Soft, gentle, with rising crescendos and drawn-out echoes, crystalline chimes and wavering notes, meandering like a stream, warm like sunlight. Hope and joy and love for life, all tied up in a rhythmic melody. It is beautiful. It is music unlike anything Cassandra has ever heard.

In this silent and hushed world, the swelling song almost sounds like a voice.

At once Cassandra can feel the difference. A pressure on the back of her neck. Something like fury and loss rippling through the air, so painfully cold that her next inhale sears her throat. The world is abruptly weighted, the midnight fog growing thick like smog.  Over their heads, the full moon shines down with painful intensity.

Cassandra’s blood runs cold.

Before Cassandra can even think to react— she is there.

The woman that appears might as well be a part of the mist. She steps out of the nothingness as if she has been there all along. She is tall, taller than even Adira, with unnaturally long limbs and hands that curl like claws. In the darkness her eyes glow like a beacon. Her skin is dark and shining like a night sky, her hair indistinguishable from the great fog roiling towards them, wispy and soft with the same pearly glow. Her mouth is twisted into a snarl, unnaturally white teeth highlighting her furious expression.

 _The Moon,_ Cassandra thinks, and her hands go weak at the realization. _She’s real,_ some part of Cassandra is whispering, a small piece of her that remembers the legends she learned at her dad’s knee and the fates that befell those who fought with gods. _She’s real._ And then, with a sudden shock that makes her heart go numb— _She’s **here.**_

Just like that. No warning, no build-up. A blink of Cassandra’s eye, and all of a sudden there she is, no fanfare, no game of cat-and-mouse, the mystery ended before it could even begin.

A tremor crawls up Cassandra’s arms. The sword almost falls loose from her fingers. 

The Moon exchanges no words. She appears in the span between one blink and the next, and then she lunges forward, not a moment or movement wasted. Everything about her is unnatural— inhumanely agile, moving more like a wraith instead of a person, afterimages imprinted behind her like the trailing echoes of a ghost. Just watching her makes Cassandra dizzy. The tip of her sword dips further towards the dirt.

Then Cassandra sees those deadly fingers reach out for Adira and the flute.

Just like that, the world snaps back into place. Instinct takes over, quelling the thrill of fear. Cassandra firms her grip and hefts her blade, daring to lift one hand off the hilt and into the air.

_“ADIRA!”_

Adira’s eyes snap to her. There is a strange and wild smile on her face, a feral expression that is all defiance—but when she looks at Cassandra that smile falters and then thins into a look of determination. She turns away before Cassandra can call out again—jumping back and out of the way of the Moon’s assault, just barely missing being torn in two by those knife-like fingers. The flute is clutched protectively to her chest, out of reach, the song cutting off with a low whistle.

 At the sudden silence, the song muted—the Moon shudders, her reaching hand faltering mid-air.

Adira takes the opening for what it is. Three more steps back and then she turns and reels back her arm. The flute is thrown high and far, spiraling in the mist.

Cassandra traces its path and lunges to catch it, diving low so that the fragile crystal won’t hit the ground. She snatches it with both hands and tucks herself into a roll with the flute held close to her chest. She flies up to her feet in one fluid motion and prepares to sprint.

She finds herself face-to-face with a goddess.

The Moon is right in front of her. They are practically nose-to-nose, those shining eyes staring right into hers, the whisper of a hand curling around her throat—

Cassandra doesn’t think. She grips her sword in one hand and swings wildly, her heart in her throat.

She does not expect her own reaction; neither, it seems, does the Moon. The iron blade catches the god full in the face and shatters on impact.

The Moon flinches back, looking surprised, and then her eyes snap down to Cassandra and narrow. Cassandra’s breath freezes in her chest, some old primal terror strangling her heart.

 ** _Tell me, human girl,_** says the Moon, low and hateful. It is the first time Cassandra has heard her speak, and her voice is like nothing she has ever known. It booms in her ears and also in her mind, a painful double echo that clashes around in her head, an awful discord. **_Did you truly think that your flimsy weaponry would work on_ me _?_**

Understanding laces Cassandra’s heart. This close, she can see the Moon in a new light. Her skin is not just as dark as the black rocks, star-like freckles non-with-standing—but just as shining, just as rigid, as if the Moon herself has been carved from stone. Not just _like_ the black rocks. She is them.

Unbreakable. Unbeatable. So how can they—?

Cassandra has no time to ponder the issue further. The Moon vanishes, and Cassandra stumbles, broken sword falling loose from her hands as she grips the flute protectively to her chest. Rapunzel, she reminds herself. They’re doing this for Rapunzel, for Corona. No matter how uneven the odds, Cassandra cannot afford to falter.

The same instinct that has kept her alive thus far strikes another warning. Cassandra throws herself to the side just in time to avoid a row of new black rocks. She’s _too_ quick, however—her feet catch on the ground, the midnight darkness making it hard to maneuver through the fog. She trips and almost falls flat, the ground rushing up towards her, and if Cassandra falls here then the rocks will run her through and it’ll all be over—

Something wrenches at her neck, pulling her upright and out of the way from another barrage of black rocks. Cassandra scrambles to her feet, whipping around—coarse white hair and blond mane, hooves mauling at the air—Maximus. It is Maximus. Wild-eyed and ears flickering madly, but still here, still steady on his feet despite the danger.

Cassandra wastes no time. In one fluid motion she slings herself on Maximus’s saddle and grips his reins in her fist. The Moon wants the flute. She will kill them for it. This is the distraction Adira intended all along—for as long as the Moon is trying to kill them, she is not watching Rapunzel.

_Wherever you are, Raps… please, let this help._

Cassandra pulls the reins tight and hisses low in Maximus’s ear. “Run, Max!”

The horse doesn’t need to be told twice. He erupts into a gallop, charging across the plain. He sprints through the thick fog without an ounce of hesitation, never faltering. Spikes rise up like a gruesome forest behind them, before them, beside them— black rocks everywhere they turn.

Max, clever Max, the horse born and raised to serve the guard—he avoids them all. The same sense that had the animals so terrified of the mountain before now lends him a new edge in this race against the Moon.

Cassandra crouches low on Maximus’s back, trusting him to keep her safe. She grips the flute so tightly the leather of her gloves pulls against her knuckles, the smooth crystal slick against the fabric.

She can’t keep hold of it forever. Her grip is slipping. Worse than that, the Moon will catch up to her soon, and the next time she does, Cassandra won’t have a weapon to surprise her with. Something has to give, and the Moon is, unfortunately, indestructible.

And so, when Cassandra spies a glimpse of moon-bright eyes shining in the mist, she does not hesitate. She lifts her hand high, finds her friend, and throws the flute as hard as she can.

For one horrible moment, the flute almost seems to float in the air, spiraling in slow motion. Free for the taking. The soft song croons out over the plain, and the fog shudders in answer.

Eugene catches the flute with one hand, and time restarts, the chase afoot once more.

Immediately he springs into motion, the same fast feet that made him an infamous thief now leading him to safety. He spins out of the way of another new growth of black rocks and drops into a straight sprint through the fog. Within seconds, Eugene vanishes from her view, swallowed by the mist.

Cassandra shuts her eyes tight, breathing in through her nose. Her next action is to roll off the saddle. She plants both feet on the ground and steadies herself against Maximus’s side.

The horse snorts, shaking his head, mane flaring. Cassandra spares a moment to pat his neck.

“Go, Max.”

He nickers at her, low and insistent. His pounding hooves draw deep grooves in the dirt.

“No,” Cassandra says. “No. We need—if we don’t—Fidela isn’t enough. Rapunzel… She’ll need you. You can’t help anymore here.”

He whines, head lowering. Cassandra strokes his neck.

“Thank you for buying me some time,” she says, quiet. “If you see my dad, can you—” The words fail her. Her breath shudders. “Well. You know.”

Maximus nudges her with his nose. His wide eyes are imploring, but Cassandra pushes him away. “No,” she says again. “No. She’ll need you.” Stronger, now. “ _Go,_ Max.”

The horse hesitates, steps stuttering. Cassandra pushes at his flank. “Go!”

This time, her voice comes out sharp and clear: an order, not a request. Maximus brays and lurches up on his hind legs, hooves beating the air—and then he falls forward into a straight gallop, away into the mists.

Cassandra spares one last second to watch him go. One last second, a momentary reprieve. Without the flute, the Moon holds no interest in her—or Maximus. He will get to safety. But if Cassandra is safe for this moment, it is because someone else isn’t.

A far-off yell echoes in the distance, back by the mountain. Cassandra clenches her empty, weaponless fists and grits her teeth against a yell of her own. She takes one last breath and then turns to race back through the fog, back toward the sound of fighting.

She has nearly made it back when her foot catches on something in the ground. There is no Maximus to catch her this time. She falls flat and hard, the ground scraping down her side.

Cassandra spits out dirt and shakes the stars from her eyes. There’s blood running from her nose and bile burning in her throat. She pushes her upper body up with one arm, trembling, her head aching. There’s mud in her mouth and blood running down her face, and Cassandra watches as the blood drips and vanishes in the dirt.

She coughs up another a glob of bloody spit and struggles to focus, squinting into the distance. In this amalgam of darkness and fog, it is hard to focus. But the moon is full and bright above them, and Cassandra can see enough.

Eugene is clutching his arm, leaning against the mountain wall with a pale face. In the limits of her vision Cassandra can see Adira—flute in one hand, no blade in sight—teeth grit into a fierce grin that doesn’t reach her eyes, stepping back and ceding ground. The Moon is in front of her, reaching out for Adira’s throat. She is no longer snarling. No longer so furious. There is a horrible light in her face, and a terrifying smile stretched across her lips.

Cassandra looks down, and sees Adira’s sword at her feet.

There is no time for uncertainty. This is for Rapunzel. This is for Eugene. This is so they can all go home alive. There is no time to even wonder if it will even work, if perhaps black rock blades are as useless as iron.

Cassandra takes up Adira’s sword and doesn’t hesitate.

In any other scenario, perhaps the sword would be too much for her. It is heavy, solid, weighing almost as much as she does. The mass drags at her exhausted limbs, the wide hilt difficult to grip. But adrenaline burns acidic and sharp in her veins, and Cassandra’s heart is set even if the rest of her is trembling.

She takes up the sword and rushes forward, a furious cry on her lips. She slides in-between the Moon and Adira, stepping inside her outstretched arm, slipping under the god’s guard. She keeps the sword by her feet, stretching it out behind her back, that deadly tip dragging up the dirt, held at a perfect angle to her body.

Cassandra shouts in a wordless challenge, and swings up at the Moon’s exposed throat.

There is a moment—just a moment, one glorious second—when Cassandra can see the Moon turn. A moment where that awful smile falls flat in shock, those bright eyes going wide, a hint of fear finally flashing across her face. A moment in which the Moon appears almost human… and just as vulnerable.

Cassandra strikes.

She never hits.

Icy hands seize Cassandra’s wrists, stopping her cold in her tracks. The blade stills mid-motion, that shining sword mere centimeters from Moon’s face, the paper-thin knife edge bisecting one glowing eye. Only a hair’s width further, and Cassandra could have sliced that eye into pieces.

The frozen shock on Moon’s face falls away into fury, her lips peeling away from her teeth. Her yellow-white eyes are wide open and livid. The wintry grip on Cassandra’s wrists tightens and twists until her bones creak.

Cassandra’s arms scream in protest. She struggles in vain to keep her hold on the sword, but her fingers cannot hold on any longer without snapping. Her grip on the hilt pries loose finger by finger.

She is helpless to do nothing but watch as Adira’s sword drops, the dark blade sinking deep into the earth at Cassandra’s feet. Within reach, if she could just get free.

But the Moon doesn’t let go, not even after disarming her. Her touch is like ice, frost crawling up Cassandra’s gloves, the cold breaking through the leather layer easily. The gloves make no difference; the Moon’s hands are stone-solid, iron shackles around thin and breakable wrists.

Cassandra tries to escape to no avail, her heels dragging in the dirt. The Moon does not let go. Her grip is so tight it burns, the pressure intense and focused. The creak has become pain has become a shriek of agony.

 ** _You dare_** , Moon whispers finally, her voice shaking with fury. Her eyes are blown wide, hair thrown back from her face. This close, Cassandra can see her mouth curl into a sneer, her teeth pointy and sharp, interlocking into unbreaking white. **_You, little human, you dare to strike me? You dare scar me? I have lived for EONS untouched by you mortal creatures, and yet, you dare…?_**

The Moon rises up. She rises up, and up, and _up_ , taller than any mortal being, greater than Cassandra could even imagine. Her long fingers wrap around the entirety of Cassandra’s whole arm without issue, and her grip is harder than iron, colder than ice. The Moon could snap Cassandra in two with a flick of her wrist.

Cassandra stops struggling, holding herself carefully still. One wrong move and her whole arm will shatter like glass, and there will be no helping her then.

 ** _There is only one being that has_** **ever _harmed me,_** Moon snarls, and leans in close. Cassandra cannot look away. She is nose-to-nose with the god, forced to stare right in those bright unblinking eyes. **_But you? You!?_ _You have no_ right _!_**

Cassandra sucks in a thin breath, and meets the Moon’s gaze without flinching. Some part of her is shaking. The rest of her is strangely calm.

_Sorry, Raps._

“Is—that so,” Cassandra rasps. Is she going to die here? Probably. But she knew going in that would be the result, and she’ll be damned if this creature sees her break. “W-w _ell_ , then, I’m sorry.”

She looks in the Moon full in the face and smiles with all her teeth.

“Next time,” Cassandra says, “I won’t miss.”

 

-

 

The tower goes up for what feels like forever.

Despite his exhaustion, Varian does his best to keep going. He really does. His leg is useless, now, unable to bear even the softest pressure or slightest weight, but his other limb is still working fine. It’s something, and he doesn’t want to be useless. And so, despite the one working leg and his own exhaustion, Varian tries to keep going. With his one good leg and Rapunzel as a crutch, he makes his way up the tower. One step and then another and then another, like clockwork.

It’s harder than walking the ground floor was, murder on his already exhausted limbs. The spiraling steps just make it worse. Even in top form he thinks the number of stairs would be wince-worthy; like this, after hours of exhaustion and starvation and sleep deprivation on top of two debilitating injuries and a full breakdown— well.

It’s certainly something, Varian thinks, and bites back a laugh. It’s not funny, and he shouldn’t be laughing, but… Well. It certainly is something, isn’t it? Karma, maybe.

Rapunzel helps. Varian hates to admit it, even if just to himself, but it’s the truth. She supports most of his weight, and though her hands are injured and it is clear to him that she’s as tired as he is, there is a strength about her that is simply inhumane. A force that isn’t entirely mortal. The kingdom used to talk about her powers, when she had them; for once Varian can understand why. He is not one to believe in magic, but there is something unearthly about her, something ‘other’ woven deep into her bones, because there is no rational he can think of that could explain how she is _still_ going.

Varian doesn’t really care, whatever the reason is. He’s not even jealous. Her odd strength and energy are not something to hate, not here, not when it has carried them both this far. And Varian—as much as it shames him to admit, he knows he wouldn’t have gotten this far without her.

Together, they keep going. One step, and another step, and then another step. They don’t stop. They can’t. Even like this, with his blood roaring in his ears, Varian can hear the scrape of the golem behind them, that shrill shriek hounding at their heels.

The pace wears down on him, even so. The world is going blurry at the edges. Time and action are becoming distant. Even his memories are becoming unfamiliar to him. Everything is running together. When did they find the tower? How long to find that door? What exactly did she say, when he broke down at the symbol?

He can’t quite remember anymore.

Varian isn’t sure why this is. He is finding it harder and harder to think. He is faltering, fading; his breaths easing and mind numbing. It scares him. The fog has been creeping up on him for a good while now, but it is becoming harder and harder to fight through it. There is a feverish warmth under his skin and a soft buzz in his ears. Like he is about to faint, but something tells him that this isn’t quite like fainting. Not really.

Worse, maybe. Something worse than fainting. Something permanent.

His steps falter on the next step, and Rapunzel pulls him up along after her. “Come on,” she says. Her voice sounds distant to his ears, distorted and indistinct. Soft under the rising echo of the golem. “Come on. We’re so close.”

He grits his teeth and tries to focus, and this time he keeps his balance.

They keep going, slow and steady and limping. Up and up and up. Behind them, the golem’s shrieking swells to near-unbearable volume, that incessant shrill screech ringing in his ears and making his head spin. The staircase is pitch dark beyond their small circle of candlelight, the gloom inescapable. No matter how often Varian looks over his shoulder, back down the staircase, straining to see a glimpse of the golem—the darkness is deep, and there is nothing to see.

And because of that, when the flash of a dark blade finally catches in the corner of his eye, Varian almost thinks he’s imagined it.

But beside him, Rapunzel has gone absolutely still. Her movements halting, her muscles taut, breathing gone abruptly shallow. He can feel her fingers curl tighter around his wrist, just under the iron manacle, and she practically drags him up to the next step.

Varian stumbles, still trying to look back. His chest feels tight and weighted, a stone tied to his heart and dropped to his gut. He looks over his shoulder, _truly_ looks, and this time he sees the two blue pinpricks of light shining back, the shadowed reflection of a form just beyond the border of the candle-glow.

This time the shrill screech is clear as day. Stone against stone, the awful shriek of ill-fitted limbs, rising like an omen at their backs. The golem at the end of the spiral, slowly clamoring up after them.

Varian’s heart drops like a stone.

“The golem,” Rapunzel whispers. Her voice breaks on the word. She is shaking again. Her arm tightens around him, a protective gesture that will be useless in the face of the golem’s relentless attacks.

Varian turns back to the stairs, looking desperately for an exit, a way to escape. There is only darkness. Only the gloom. Behind them the golem climbs, its dark body hidden in the shadows. But Varian can imagine it easily enough. Blue lights like eyes shining out, reaching stone limbs and a faceless puppet relentlessly in pursuit. His breath shudders out halfway to a sob.

“We have to go faster,” Varian says, but even as he says it, he knows. They can’t go faster. They’re already at the end of their rope as is. It’s probably a miracle that they’re still moving at all, or perhaps just the vestiges of adrenaline. “W-we, we have to…”

He trails off. They have to _what_? He can’t run. He doesn’t think even Rapunzel can run. At the start, they could have. But that strength is dead and gone by now.

“We have to try!” Rapunzel snaps, and though her words are brave even she can’t hide her desperation. She shakes her head so fiercely the whiplash makes her hair fly. “We—we’re _so_ close! We—why is it—”

She bites the words back at the last moment, breathing raggedly. Her grip is like iron around his waist. She wordlessly drags them both up the next two stairs, and the pace is far too slow.

The golem is right behind them, gaining ground. For all that its poor design makes its walk loping and ill-suited for climbing, there is no pain to make it hesitate, nothing to slow it down. In another few minutes, it will overpass them, and they have nowhere else to go.

Varian squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think. It’s hard. It’s so _hard._ He feels like he’s trying to claw reason out of a mind sunk deep in molasses, a leaden weight tied down to his every thought. A headache pulses bright behind his eyes. The shriek of the golem’s limbs is so loud it makes his head ring.

“The bag,” Varian whispers to himself. Something clicks, a connection forged through the fog. “The bag, _your bag,_ Rapunzel, you need to—”

Her voice is thin, raised high over the golem’s screeching. “What!?”

“We can’t outrun it!” Varian cries, his mind whirling. This is the truth. They’ve ignored it thus far, but they’ve known it ever since the golem first came after them. “We can’t… but we can— we can slow it down. We can—” He doesn’t know how to form the words, can’t remember how to explain it. “The bag,” he says finally, almost a plea.

Thankfully, Rapunzel complies, even if she doesn’t seem to understand. She helps him up the next few stairs and shifts the bag over to his side as they back away. The golem’s blade flashes again, too close for comfort—

Varian grabs at the bag and lets go of the candle, unable to multitask. The brass candle-holder drops with a clatter and then the flame flickers out, the whole tower going dark. The golem’s eyes are like beacons, bright and blue and floating in the air with the threat of violence. Rapunzel drags them back, stumbling in the blackness. Varian fumbles with the straps of the bag, choking down a cry.

 _Think,_ he tells himself. Don’t look at golem. Don’t look at its eyes. _Think!_ Open the flap, search the contents. Remember how you made the bombs. Glass bottles of paint into a creation of alchemy. Stay focused. Don’t falter. _Think, Varian!_

There’s a way out. There has to be.

Smooth glass knocks against his reaching hand, and he closes his fist on small bottles, the only bombs he had time to create, awkward and misshapen in his grasp. He draws them all out by the fistful, uncertain which is paint and which are the bombs. He can’t remember how many he made. Two? Three? He has them, regardless, and the paint won’t hinder their effect.

The golem’s eyes are right there. Blue formless points of shining light, so close that when he blinks the glare leaves spots behind his eyelids. He cannot see the golem’s body anymore, but he can hear its sword slice the air.

Varian meets those bright blue eyes head-on, and throws the bottles right in the golem’s face.

A loud _crack_ rends the air _,_ the sharp snap of breaking glass. Then, a hiss. Something clatters against the stone stairs. Sparks jump at their feet. For a moment Varian can see the golem in full, outlined and shadowed as if illuminated by lightning—dark reflective stone cracked straight through, its face crumbling, its body scarred by whatever Rapunzel did to it, hours ago. It reaches out for Varian and light bursts like a flare.

He can smell smoke, and something sharp and tangy like fresh paint. Ash coats his tongue, sticks in his throat. Another crack rings out—louder, deeper, shaking the walls.

The floor gives out beneath them.

The world blurs. The floor is—the bombs had hit the golem and clattered down, and now the whole staircase is crumbling. Varian can feel these ancient steps buckle and indent beneath his feet, craters forming under his toes, the old stone crackling like autumn leaves.

He can see the golem’s shining eyes, looking up—and then gone, vanished, blinked out of existence, slipping off the edge without a sound.

The stone buckles down and Varian sucks in a breath, good leg scrambling for solid footing. He’s going to fall, he’s going to drop just like golem has, a straight sixty-foot plunge—but arms wrap around his waist and yank him away from the edge just before he slips over.

The reaction is spreading, the whole staircase set to crumble. The ancient stone is unprepared for the sheer force of three chemical bombs going off at once. Rapunzel pulls Varian close and drags him up the next few steps, scrambling away from the disintegrating edges, just barely keeping them ahead. He can’t see a thing but he can feel the stone giving way, until at last the marble stays solid beneath his feet.

Varian grips Rapunzel’s arm and tries to breathe. The darkness swims before his eyes. His leg is screaming. His head pounds. “It worked,” he mumbles. There is a ringing in his ears. A buzz beneath his skin. A chill that has nothing to do with the cold. “It… worked? Did it—”

Rapunzel is shivering. She grips his upper arm so tightly it is starting to hurt, which means it must be agonizing for her. “It worked,” she says. She sounds breathless. He can still hear the sound of breaking stone, but she’s dragged them up high enough that the danger is null. The stone beneath his feet tremors but holds solid.

“It—the golem—” She gives a disbelieving laugh. “It fell. It _fell._ And the stairs, they just… it can’t…”

“Can’t follow,” Varian mumbles. “I k- _knew_ there was… a way…”

Rapunzel laughs again, thin and high but full of relief. “Yeah. Y-yeah. Though, m-maybe next time wait, um, until we’re… out of the line of impact?”

“Oh,” Varian considers. “…Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Her words are warm, bright with relief. “That was... That was clever. I shouldn’t be… it’s—the golem can’t follow us.” Varian can’t see Rapunzel’s face, but he can hear the delight in her voice. “We’re safe. We’re _safe.”_ Another laugh. “We’re alive!”

Her energy and relief are alien to him. He feels ill. “…Yeah.”

Some of his doubt must bleed through, because Rapunzel pulls him close to her side, a show of safety that is bizarrely comforting. “It’s okay,” she says. “We’re okay. It fell. It _fell._ Even if it could climb back up…” Her voice firms. “We’re almost there. Almost at the top. It’s almost over, Varian, okay?”

 “Almost there,” Varian echoes, and her arm squeezes him against her side in a tight one-armed hug. She is trying to comfort him, and for some reason it makes his throat go tight.

“Yes, exactly,” Rapunzel says. She tucks him under her arm like she’s trying to protect him, and her hug is equal parts discomforting and soothing. “It’s almost over, Varian. Okay? It’s… it’s going to be alright.” She breathes in deep through her nose, and bursts into quiet laughter.

“We’re going to be alright,” Rapunzel says, and she almost sounds like she believes it.

Varian can’t muster a smile. He tastes ash, breathes in dust and debris, the sharp burning scent of fresh paint in his nose. He can feel the dust settling as the staircase finally stops crumbling, ash drifting down and falling to rest like some dark parody of snow. He doesn’t answer.

It occurs to Varian, then, that he isn’t sure if he’s going to make it. Almost there, Rapunzel says, and yet—he doesn’t know if he is strong enough. He doesn’t think he will get out of this place alive. Maybe Rapunzel will, but… Varian?

There is fog in his mind, buzzing in his ears, poison in his blood. Infection will do that, Varian knows. Infection is a patient killer. And after everything that has happened—the attack by the mountain, the two days in the cave, however long they have been trapped in this labyrinth, running non-stop for their lives… he has finally run out of time.

Varian doesn’t want to die.

He doesn’t tell her this. He doesn’t want Rapunzel to know. It feels like a betrayal, in a way. Dying. She’s saved his life more times than he cares to admit. He has finally apologized, a regret that is, Varian thinks, perhaps long overdue. And while they aren’t okay yet—this is the closest they have been in months. Not quite friends, no, but—not enemies. Even after everything he’s done, she hasn’t left him behind. She hasn’t given up on him, a conviction that stands out all the more because in truth she doesn’t owe him anything at all, least of all that.

And even after all that, Varian is still not going to make it. It’s a cruel sort of irony.

She’s given him more than he deserves, and he can’t even give her this. She’s been helping him from the start—and even now, she is still here, she is still helping him. But for the first time, Varian wishes he could help her too. He doesn’t hate her. They aren’t friends, but he doesn’t hate her. She apologized, weeks ago. He is beginning to think—to _believe—_ that she meant it.

He doesn’t want her to know.

So Varian doesn’t say a word. He just nods. It is easy, lying to Rapunzel. It was easy when he hated her and it's easy now. She slings his arm back over her shoulder and keeps helping him up the stairs, and Varian just lets her. He tries to hold on and is very aware, now, of just how far he is slipping.

He can still smell the soot. Ash coats them both like a second skin. The candle is gone, and there’s no other light they can use, but it doesn’t matter. There is a light far above them. A cold white-blue glow that shines down like moonlight on the crown of their heads.

“We’re almost there,” Rapunzel says.

“I know,” Varian says. His voice has gone very quiet without his meaning it to. Echoing in his own ears. His heart sinks in his chest.

“The top of the tower, the end, we… we’re almost there. We’re almost there!” She sounds happy. She sounds desperate. Their victory over the golem has given her an extra burst of strength, a new thrill of hope. Varian closes his eyes.

There is a light far above them and many more steps to go. The end is almost within reach. But he feels feverish and faint, the whole world going dim and blurry, and Varian—Varian has fainted a lot, in his life. Exhaustion, overworking, too little to eat. _You need to take care of yourself,_ Dad used to say. But Varian never really listened.

The world is going dark at the edges, his eyes unable to focus, and Varian knows what that means. He’s had a lot of experience.

“…Rapunzel?”

“Yeah?”

He looks up. He can see it, even with his eyes as they are. A blur of ivory light, soft and blue, shining dimly yet strong from high above them.  “I’m sorry.”

“…I know,” she says. Distant, not unkind. She doesn’t understand.

 _Not that,_ Varian thinks. Not about that. That’s not what I meant.

He doesn’t tell her.

He doesn’t know how to feel about her, if she’s an enemy or a stranger or the start of a friend—but even then, no matter what it turns out to be, he’s sorry that she will have to go through the rest of the labyrinth on her own.

His head aches fiercely. He can’t focus at all now. It’s hard to tell, in the dark, but he thinks his vision is going spotty. His blood burns like poison in his veins, fire lacing up his leg, from his ear, in his heart.

And the funny thing is, he really is sorry. He’s sorry that he’s going to die. Not just because he’s afraid—but because he regrets that it means leaving her alone in a place like this.

_Sorry, Rapunzel._

The world is blurring at the edges. The buzz is growing louder. It’s like falling asleep, Varian thinks, that silly cliché people are always throwing around—except it’s not, not really. This is darker and deeper, almost smothering. There is no promise of waking up again.

_…You don’t deserve this._

Varian breathes in, breathes out. A shallow pattern. He breathes in, breathes out. He keeps going. His eyes are practically closed. Rapunzel has been supporting them both for a while now. He wonders if she’ll even notice.

Everything has done distant and fuzzy. Physical sensation dulls and then fades away. The pain in his leg and his ear, the warmth of Rapunzel’s arm across his shoulders. Her voice is tinny and indistinct. It feels like falling. It feels like drowning. It feels like going to sleep.

He exhales, soft like a sigh, and doesn’t breathe again.

 

-

 

“Next time, I won’t miss,” Cassandra says, and Eugene reacts on instinct.

Adira is dragging him onto his feet, when it happens, the flute in one hand and her other clamped around his bicep. They are some distance away, too far for Eugene to run to Cassandra’s aide. Adira had retreated when Cassandra attacked the Moon to let her escape, and no matter how smart that move was strategically, Eugene cannot help but hate her for it. They are both too far away to help.

He can see the moment those words register with the Moon. He can see the look in her eyes, her former anger darkening, burning, expanding. He can see her prepare to strike back.

And so: Eugene reacts.

He snatches the flute from Adira’s hand, and retreats out of reach before she can think to take it back. He holds the crystal straight up in the air, right in the path of that roaring midnight wind, and shouts, at the top of his lungs, “HEY! Moon lady! Over here!”

A flash of bright eyes in his direction, but the god still isn’t really looking at him, still doesn’t care—she’ll break Cassandra in two and then come for the rest of them, and Eugene _cannot let that happen._

“Let her go, now,” he snaps. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not fear but fury in his bones, and the hatred strengthens him even as it astounds him. He is sick and tired of feeling like some god’s plaything. He is sick and tired of the way the Moon has apparently strung them along and manipulated them for the past year, the past week, the past few minutes. He’s sick and tired of not being able to help. Forced to stand by and watch as the bad things happen.

Not anymore, Eugene thinks. _Not again, damn it!_

The flute is in his hands, and if the Moon would go this far just to get it—if she would show herself like this, for the song in the flute—then that means leverage. It means that, in this moment, Eugene is the one in control.

This thought steadies him. “Let Cass go,” Eugene says, and raises his hand. His back to the black rocks, and spikes growing slow and sneaky at his feet. He holds his hand out above the glowing rocks, fingers loose and ready to let the crystal instrument drop and shatter against the stone.

“Let her go right now,” he says, and his voice rings clear over the plain. “Or I will _break_ this fucking thing into a million pieces.”

 _That_ gets a reaction. The Moon pauses. Her eyes cut over to him, and this time, they stay there.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Eugene challenges. He keeps his hand out. The soft song of the flute floats over the battlefield. It almost sounds like a voice. “This is what you want. If you don’t let her go, _alive,_ you’ll lose this flute forever.”

The Moon observes him. His skin crawls at the sensation, those blank glowing eyes, wide and unblinking, scanning him and down. Looking right through him.

 ** _If you break that flute,_** the Moon says at last, flat and cold, as impersonal as the tide. **_Then I will kill you all._**

Eugene laughs. He can’t help it. He knows a liar when he sees one, and there’s something so hilarious about that—the implication she’d let them go at all, if only he played by her rules. “Please, dear lady.” He smiles, baring all his teeth. “You’re going to kill us anyway.”

She tilts her head, eyes tightening, her gaze weighted and barbed like a blade. In her grasp, Cassandra fights for breath. Her face is colorless from pain, teeth grit against a scream. Brave, annoying Cassandra, sassing back a god. Eugene is torn between the desire to cheer her on or maybe cry from the foolishness of the whole endeavor. Sassy comments are _his_ thing, and even he knows this isn’t the place for them. _God damn it, Cass._

There’s still pride, though. Bone-deep and grounding. How can Eugene run away, when Cassandra is standing so strong? It’d be letting her win, and he’s always been petty enough to try and spoil her victories.

“It’s the Sun, isn’t it?” Eugene remarks, taking another step back. He keeps his hand—and the flute—poised over the rocks. Music drifts out through air, swelling and falling, a soft melody he could almost mistake for a woman’s voice. A song unlike anything he’s ever heard. “This is her song. The music—it sounds like her.”

The Moon’s face is unreadable.

“If you don’t let Cassandra go,” Eugene says, “I’ll break it. And you’ll never hear this song again.”

The Moon doesn’t move. **_I could kill you before you even thought to act._**

Eugene forces himself to meet her stare. “Maybe,” he admits. He deliberately loosens his hold on the flute, letting it dangle from his fingertips. Bright eyes snap to the crystal, and he knows he’s got her. “Are you willing to risk being wrong?”

Another pause. The Moon watches his face. Her eyes narrow, sharp and considering.

She straightens up, dragging Cassandra off the ground, letting her dangle. There is a weighty pause, as the Moon looks between Eugene and the human life literally hanging in her grasp. Then her eyes turn to the flute. The song whispers and croons, as soothing as a lullaby, as gentle as a sunshower. Something in Moon’s face goes distant, the hard lines of her expression softening.

She lets Cassandra drop.

Cassandra collapses hard onto her knees, curling up with her arms by her gut, a strangled yelp of pain at the rough treatment. Eugene steps forward to go to her without thinking. He stops mid-step, remembering himself—but when his head snaps back, the Moon has already vanished.

For one pure, idiotic moment, Eugene has a sense of pure relief before understanding finally catches up to him. If the Moon is no longer there—

 _“Eugene!”_ Adira snaps out, somewhere behind him, and the alarm in her voice brings him back to himself. Eugene steps away from Cassandra and turns to run, and just about slams head-first into the mountain wall.

He staggers, catching himself against the stone before he can faceplant. Horror strikes his heart. He’s gotten turned around—he wasn’t paying attention—he’s misstepped, and now he’s cornered against the black rocks.

Before he can even think to correct his mistake, the Moon is already there.  _Right_ there, too close for comfort, her hair bleeding into the fog and her knife-like fingers reaching for his throat—

Eugene tries to run anyway, but the black rocks rise up on both sides, caging him in, and the Moon is everywhere he turns. Before him, beside him, behind him—her unearthly image reflected tenfold in every dark stone, flashes of her bright eyes in the cloying mist. He gets maybe four steps at most before she catches Eugene by the throat and throws him back against the mountainside. His head rings. The flute drops from numb fingers into the dirt. The song goes quiet.

 ** _Little fools,_** Moon says, her echoing voice almost a snarl. **_I was content to ignore you, but now you all have vexed me. Are you lot really so eager to die?_**

Her fingers are a vice around his neck. He can barely breathe. “Come on now,” Eugene chokes out. His blood is roaring in his ears. He can feel his pulse skyrocket. “You… really did… have it coming…”

Moon’s whole form ripples like a flicker of light. She brings her face in close, her teeth bared. **_What?_**

“ _Rapunzel,_ ” Eugene spits back. Some long-buried fury rises up, and his hands clench around Moon’s stone-cold wrist, trying in vain to pry those icy fingers from his throat. “Varian. Did… did you think… we’d just… _leave?”_

The Moon does not seem wholly impressed with this argument. **_They are mine now. The Sundrop has come home. It is time for her to face her destiny. Time for her to prove she can be trusted._**

Eugene laughs before he can think to stop himself and Moon cuts the sound off to a strangled wheeze. Her grip tightens painfully, the deadly points of her fingers pricking the soft skin of his neck.

 ** _Tell me, boy,_** Moon hisses, glowing hair bristling like a cobra frill around her face. **_What, exactly, do you find so funny?_**

Eugene can’t answer. Her hold is too tight. He crawls at her fingers in a futile effort to free himself, and she watches his struggle dispassionately, no mercy in her eyes. For an instant he thinks she will leave him like this—choking on words and lack of air, until he no longer has the breath left to try to speak at all.

But at long last, her hold loosens, just a bit. Just enough for Eugene to say, “She… won’t… listen.”

Moon’s grip slackens noticeably at that. There is something almost like surprise on her face.

“Do you really think…” Eugene forces out, a little horrified that she has not realized, “that she’d do… _anything_ … for _you?”_

The black rocks, Varian, Quirin, Corona. This dark kingdom and everything that has happened here, all the things Moon might have done to her. And Eugene knows Rapunzel, perhaps better than he even knows himself. Whatever the Moon wants from her, he is certain it is nothing good—and he knows Rapunzel will refuse.

The Moon’s expression doesn’t change. **_It matters not what she desires. It is her destiny. Her path to take. I will make sure she takes it, one way or another. I shall not be denied!_**

“Maybe,” Eugene wheezes. He can taste blood in the back of his throat, feel it coat his teeth. In his mind’s eye a memory arises, weeks ago when they were still on the road. Rapunzel’s fears and her uncertainty, questions on what lay ahead and if she could withstand it.

Eugene forces a smile. “M-maybe,” he repeats. “But—she’s a lot—stronger than you m-might think.” He grips her wrist, a useless gesture. “She— _won’t_ —bow.”

 ** _We shall see about that,_** the Moon says, cold as ice and just as hollow, and her grip tightens on his throat. **_Even Sundrops have their breaking point. For now, however… perhaps it is time I found yours._**

For the first time, real panic spikes in Eugene’s heart. The Moon is finished with him—the flute at her feet and Eugene in her hold. She will kill him and then the others and then she will leave. But she can’t, not yet— _Buy as much time as you can_ , Adira had said, and this isn’t enough—

“W-wait—”

 **Why _do you all ask me to wait?_** Moon snaps before he can finish, sounding incensed. Her hair tangles in the wind, mouth drawn low in an irritated sneer. **_Again, and again, and again! Are all humans so predictable? Wait, you say, listen, you say, look over here—_**

She stops.

Eugene’s heart stills in his chest. He fights with renewed vigor, struggling to free himself, to be as distracting as possible. But the Moon’s eyes stare right through him.

 ** _Why is it,_** the Moon says, very slowly, **_that you have this flute?_**

His blood goes cold _._ “T-that’s—”

 ** _Why have you brought it where I could see? Why have you taunted me with it?_** She is no longer asking questions, not really. There is something like fury and something like realization in her voice. **_This silly little game of keep-away…_**

She goes still and Eugene fights in vain to free himself.

 ** _…You were distracting me,_** Moon breathes, horror dawning in her face. **_You—_**

Her head snaps up, eyes going distant. **_Sundrop, my Sundrop, where have you gone?_**

 _Rapunzel,_ Eugene thinks. Oh god, let this have helped. Let this have done _something._ She has to be okay.

 ** _The stairs, yes, I remember,_** the Moon says, murmuring under her breath.  ** _She is nearing the finale. But then, where… no. What? She is not there. But that cannot be—_**

The Moon stops. She sucks in a sharp breath. Her eyes have gone wide with shock, looking off into another place. Her grip loosens and then goes slack, and Eugene drops, grasping at his neck and trying to remember how to breathe.

 ** _My golem,_** she whispers, and then, her voice rising: **_The summit._** Her eyes go distant and then widen.

 ** _The boy,_** the Moon says, practically breathing the words, and for a moment Eugene can see her clearly—no more echoes, no more afterimages. Just the Moon, as real as the rest of them, head tilted to the sky, eyes dull in the moonlight, her face fallen open and her smile no-where in sight.

Eugene lunges for her, desperate to keep her here, to buy more time. His hand closes around her arm, icy skin as hard as stone.

His fingers close on fog and empty air. The Moon vanishes, simply gone, and Eugene falls forward at the sudden absence, sprawling in the dirt.

Eugene kneels on the ground, spitting blood and colorful curses. His throat aches, his skin tingling with the threat of new bruises. He coughs hard and wet, tasting blood, and when he swipes his hand across his mouth it comes back smeared with red.

He sits up slowly, swallowing hard, feeling the spasms in his throat. The Moon does not reappear. She is gone—truly gone, Eugene realizes. Not even a hint of her terrifying presence remains, the strange pressure in the air and awful chill receding with her departure. Even the fog is retreating—thinning out into a gentler and more natural mist, obscuring the sky and the full moon above them from view.

He digs his fingers in the mud and closes his eyes. “Damn,” Eugene says, and bows over his knees, hiding his head in his hands.

The silence stretches on, broken only by the sound of footsteps. He doesn’t look up until a hand touches his shoulder.

“Eugene. Are you alive?”

He drags in a painful breath and finally lifts his head. “Apparently. You?”

Cassandra just looks down at him, her face oddly blank. There’s blood running down the front of her face, one of the worst bloody noses he’s seen. She’s removed her gloves; the skin of her forearms is red and irritated. She’ll be having some impressive bruises too, sooner rather than later. She doesn’t grace him with an answer.

Cassandra kneels by his side and winds her arm through his elbow instead. “On three,” she says, quiet. “We’ll take it slow.”

He nods, shortly, and breathes in tune with her counting, still rubbing at his throat. At three, they stand together. He sways on his feet and Cassandra keeps him steady. Her expression is more stoic than is natural, even for her, and he hates the look of it.

Despite the shakiness in his legs, Eugene manages a thin smile. His voice is a croaky wheeze, and his neck _hurts,_ but he still manages to force out, “Not bad for a former thief, huh?” and even make it sound more funny than pathetic.

Cassandra blinks, her impassiveness faltering, then rolls her eyes at him. The exasperation all show. She smiles faintly. “You’re an absolute idiot, Fitzherbert.”

His hands are trembling, and he can’t trust his own eyes. He keeps expecting the Moon to reappear, and he can’t understand why she left, just like that. Eugene is, for all intents and purposes, a mess. But bickering with Cassandra has always been too easy. “So says the person who was all ‘oooOOO, powerful god lady, I’ll make sure not to miss the next time I try to take your eye out—’”

Cassandra raises her fist and shakes it in his face, all false threat, and Eugene cracks a real smile, stepping out of reach. The movement makes his head spin; her own eyes are tight with the echo of pain. But even then—their smiles don’t fade.

“She didn’t kill you.”

Eugene startles at this comment, his grin faltering at the interruption. Adira has caught up to them, looking Eugene up and down. A frown pinches at her brows.

“Yeah,” Eugene rasps, when she doesn’t say anything else right away. “Yeah, thanks, I noticed.”

“No,” Adira says quietly. There is something dark in her face. She kneels down and gently picks something up off the ground.

Eugene’s heart drops his chest. Cassandra sucks in a thin breath.

“The flute.”

 “She didn’t kill you,” Adira repeats, staring down at the crystal. “She forgot.” She looks up and meets Eugene’s eyes, and her expression is solemn. “She is not a being who forgets.”

Eugene, alive; the flute, left behind after all the trouble the Moon went through to get her hands on it. A being that does not forget—not usually. And all at once, Eugene can finally place the emotion he saw on Moon’s face before she disappeared.

Fear.

Eugene isn’t smiling anymore.

“We have to go,” Adira says, watching Eugene’s face closely. Whatever expression she finds there makes her grim; her lips press in a thin line. “We have to go right now.”

Eugene and Cassandra both turn to Adira, for once united in their incredulity. “What,” Eugene says, forcing out the words. “We… wait, it’s not done, we still have the flute—if we can try—”

“No. We can’t.” No-nonsense, sharp, leaving little room for argument. Adira puts the flute in her pack and laces her sword to her back. When she turns to them, her mouth is a grim line. “The Moon left the flute behind. She won’t fall for the same trick twice. If she left this behind, and you alive—” She shakes her head. “It’s over. We need to go.”

“Go _where?”_

“Away from the mountain.” Adira turns and looks to the summit. Her expression is grave. “Something is happening. Something is _going_ to happen. If it’s enough that she… well. We don’t want to be anywhere near here.”

Eugene is scrambling to keep up. “Wait,” he says. Beside him, Cassandra is just as vocal. “No,” she snaps, “what if Raps—”

“We’ve done what we could,” Adira informs them, with cool finality, and then: “Don’t you trust her?”

And there is nothing else to say to that, except the truth. “Yes,” Eugene snaps, and Cassandra nods, her jaw tight, hands clenched into shaking fists. “But—”

“Whatever is to come,” Adira says, “The Sundrop has to face it. We’ve done what we could.” She pauses, then adds, a tad gentler— “It’s up to her now.”

Her tone is final, and Eugene can’t find the words to argue. Neither can Cassandra, for all her face goes dark. There’s nothing. There’s nothing to say and nothing more they can do.

Adira closes her eyes and sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose. She turns to Cassandra. “The white horse?”

“Maximus,” Cassandra says. “I sent him off. It was too chaotic.”

Adira nods. “Which direction?”

Cassandra’s mouth is a thin slash on her face. She points. Adira nods again, looking oddly weary, and begins walking away, leaving the mountain in her dust. She doesn’t look back.

Eugene follows after her, Cassandra by his side, both of them helpless to do anything else. Behind them, the mountain face looms on. Dark and unbreakable and unfathomable, the Moon’s tower hidden from view.

Their fight is over, but Eugene has the awful sense that Rapunzel’s is just beginning.

 _Please, Blondie,_ Eugene thinks, or maybe prays. He’s never been much for religion, but maybe, for this once… If anyone, any god, any being is listening… then maybe it’s worth a shot. He doesn’t want to find a new dream so soon after finally finding her. He doesn’t think he even could.

  _Please come back._

There is nothing else he can do, and so, with one last glance at the mountain of black stone, Eugene turns and leaves the tower behind once again. He is still alive. Cassandra, Adira, Maximus—they are all still alive. They have survived an ordeal that should have killed them.

It should feel like a victory.

It doesn’t.

 

-

 

 _It’s almost over,_ Rapunzel tells herself. _It’s almost over._

She repeats the mantra in her head and under her breath with every step. Almost over. Almost done. No more labyrinth, no more black rocks, no more Moon. It’s almost over, and at the end—at the end she’s sure to find something that will at last free them from this awful place for good.

_Almost over._

The staircase, still spiraling upwards, is down to the last few steps. She can see each one in entirety, the stairs cast in stark shadows. The light that had once seemed distant and near unreal is now vivid and unmistakable. It spills out over the steps, shining in the dark stone walls. Ivory-blue light, soft and sweet, a hazy glow like a star, leading her onwards. Up here the air is no longer stale but instead wintery cold, sharp and jagged in her throat. The black stone burns icy against her bare feet. Her hair drags on behind her and Varian both, falling back into the gloom, gravity and the weight of it making the golden strands feel more like a ball-and-chain. Varian is dead weight at her side.

But the light at the end calls out to her, soft and sweet, a guiding glow like the Corona lanterns outside her tower window. The promise of a dream, of a better tomorrow, of change. It beckons her onwards.

This is the end. The center of the labyrinth, the end of the road, the reason for all of this. _The end,_ sing-song and soft, less like a thought and more like a voice whispering in her head, but when she looks there is no-one else there. Only Rapunzel, only Varian, only the dark behind them and the white light before them.

 _I shall see your will broken,_ the Moon had said, moments before vanishing. _Your confidence fall, your heart shatter. I will see you at your lowest, and then—then I will see what you are made of, Sundrop girl, and I will know if I have made the right choice._

Rapunzel doesn’t know what that means. She has no idea what choice she is expected make, or what Moon has decided to test her with. But at the same time, Rapunzel doesn’t care. She’s faced Gothel, the golem, the labyrinth… and Rapunzel is not alone here. She has Varian, now, truly an ally; and better yet there is someone in control of all of this madness. No matter how slim Rapunzel’s odds at victory, the Moon’s presence here means that there _is_ a way out.

No matter what the choice is, no matter what awaits, Rapunzel will overcome it. She has to.

At this thought she squeezes Varian’s hand, half to remind herself that he is there and half to comfort him. Varian is limp by her side, his leg dragging. He’s been quiet for a bit now, even before the golem came. She knows he’s scared. She knows he’s hurting. She hopes that her being there with him at least provides some comfort.

He doesn’t squeeze her hand back, and Rapunzel bites back a sigh. She grips his wrist, his iron handcuff cold against the edge of her hand, and keeps pulling him forward without comment.

It’s almost over, Rapunzel reminds herself. _It’s almost over._ The very idea fills her with hope and dread alike. Soon this whole ordeal will be behind them. She looks up at the final few steps, and the light that shines beyond them. Not much farther, now. Four steps and then the staircase will be at its end. All that is left is to walk through that open archway, and face whatever lies within the tower’s highest point.

“We’re almost there,” she promises Varian. “We’re so close, okay? We’re almost there.”

The final steps take no time at all. She is here. They have made it. She stands at the top of the tower staircase and feels her knees go weak. Doubts crawl in her mind and lodge in the back of her throat.

She shifts her footing into a more solid stance and pulls back her shoulders, steeling herself. A final test, the Moon had said. Whatever trial lies within, it cannot wait.

Rapunzel steps through the archway and enters the tower.

She does not know what to expect; what she finds is nothing like she imagined. Some part of her believed she’d find another echo, another mimicry of her childhood home; this tower is nothing like that. The room is huge, perhaps twice the size of her old tower—open floors and towering walls, with looming statues of pale marble in the corners. Held up on a pedestal, guarded by the stone giants, two empty black thrones sit gathering dust.

Beneath her feet, the floor is smooth and glassy, old marble thick with grime but still glossy even after all this time. The black rocks sprout violent and sporadic here, uncaring of the old beauty, the careful design. They break up through the floor and out of the walls, each and every spear of stone pointing in the same direction.

Rapunzel follows their path, eyes tracing across the room. The great comet-symbol, printed in winter blue on the tiled floor. The old torch-holders, their wood rotted and fires long since gone cold. Two great stone doors, flung open wide, light spilling out from within.

A lone path stretches on past the doors, a dark bridge leading out to a distant place. The lone source of light in this whole tower. It shines on the floors and reflects in dark stone, makes darker the looming shadows. It falls gently on a rotted corpse that lies outstretched on the ground, sprawled before those great doors. A skeleton garbed in rotting royal clothing, its hand outstretched to the light, a tarnished black crown fit for a king resting heavy on that milky white skull.

Rapunzel shuts her eyes and turns away from the sight of those bones, breathing deep through her nose. Bile burns sours in her throat. It is so quiet here, hushed with mystery and some thrill of power. But silent, alone. No monsters that she can see. No traps. No test—at least, not yet.

Rapunzel breathes. “Varian,” she says. “Varian, look _,_ we made it, we’re here—we made it. We made it!” She’s shaking, almost laughing, a giggle crawling up her throat. “We _made_ it.”

Varian doesn’t answer, leaning heavy against her side, and Rapunzel’s laugher fades, her voice echoing oddly in the room. Her momentary hysteria eases back into silence, and she closes her eyes again, breathing wetly, eyes watery and vision blurred. Even with her eyes closed, that soft ivory light shines through.

“We’re here,” Rapunzel whispers. She opens her eyes again slowly, looking back to the end of the room, past the bridge and past the corpse to the white light beyond it. It shines so brightly. It feels… alive, almost. Like a song, or a whispering voice that pulls at her heartstrings.

Rapunzel feels strange just watching it. The air pulses gently with an echo of a resonance, and her head aches in tune, blooding drumming in her heart to the same pattern as a distant song. Calling her forward, welcoming her home.  _Sister, sister, twin-of-mine._ It sings like fire in her blood, and her eyes burn.

Rapunzel winces, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the strange sensation. It doesn’t hurt, but she can _feel_ it, like there is a string tied to every atom of her being, and someone is pulling hard at the other end.

_Come-to-me, come-to-me, come…_

“What…?”

She is here at the top of the tower, the end of the labyrinth— and for the first time the significance of that occurs to her. The Moon’s tower. The tower of myth, created as a result of Sun giving the world the Sundrop flower. And beyond that—the graphtyc that began this path so long ago. The sun, intact—a tear falling down to form the flower. But the Moon’s legend is missing pieces, with only the edges of the black rocks to hint at what was created. And if the flower was created from a Sundrop, then—for the first time, it occurs to Rapunzel to wonder—

If a drop of Sun created the flower, created _her,_ then couldn’t it be possible that there is a Moondrop, too?

All this time, Rapunzel had assumed the graphtyc meant that the rocks were the result of the Moon—or perhaps even the tower, or even the labyrinth itself. But the light beckons her like waiting hands, sweet and sly, and something tells her that isn’t quite right. That perhaps the tower was not created by the Moondrop… but instead _for_ it.

_Come-to-me?_

She steadies herself against a statue and shakes the murmurs from her head, then squeezes Varian’s hand, half to comfort him, and half to ground herself. All at once, everything has become distracting.

“I just had a funny thought,” she whispers down to him, reluctantly drawing her eyes away from the ivory glow and back to him. It takes physical effort to draw her eyes away from that bright light. “The graphtyc you brought to me, do you remember? There was… an image, something like a Moondrop. Do you think, maybe… that light could be…?”

He doesn’t answer, and Rapunzel pauses. She thought that, at the very least, would perhaps pique his interest. In fact—this whole room, in all its mystery, its dreamlike splendor, she had expected—something, really. Anything at all.

Instead he is silent, and at that realization Rapunzel grips his hand a little tighter.

“…Varian?”

Nothing.

She checks on him, and for the first time, she notices just how— _motionless_ he is. His hand slung over her neck, her arm keeping him upright—she is the only reason he’s still standing. Varian is limp in her hold, his head bowed, voice silent; all his strength seems to have left him.

Concern strikes deep at her heart. Her breath stutters. “Oh, g-god, Varian, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to push you—” She kneels slowly, and when he still doesn’t respond just keeps on talking, a heavy lump knotting in her throat. She’d known he was tired, she’d known he was having trouble, and she had still— oh, damn her!

“We can rest now,” Rapunzel reassures him, her voice gentling. “This is… you don’t have to worry about what happens next, okay? This is… it has to be me. I’m the one the Moon wants, so… So just rest, okay? We’ll be out of here soon. I’ll get us out.”

He doesn’t snap at her, or insult her, and she cautiously takes it as a possible good sign. He hasn’t been able to meet her eyes, or even speak much to her after his breakdown—she can only imagine how confused he must feel, mainly because she feels the same way. So while his quiet unnerves her, it doesn’t surprise her, and Rapunzel maneuvers him on the ground without comment.

She is hoping to help him sit up, maybe rest against one of the statues. But Varian doesn’t respond, and when she lays him down, he just—falls back. Limp, unresponsive.

He doesn’t get up.

His head almost cracks against the stone floor, and Rapunzel catches him at the last moment, falling on her knees to keep his head from snapping back. One hand under his back, the other reaching out to his shoulder to help him sit up properly. He is half-cradled on her lap, almost a hug. It is not the most comfortable position for her; pain stabs up her wrist at the motion, sharp and punishing.

Rapunzel grasps at his arm with an aching hand and tries for a smile. “V-Varian, I can’t… you need to sit up, I, I don’t think I…”

Rapunzel trails off.

Varian isn’t getting up.

Something stills in her chest. Rapunzel shakes. “Oh. Oh. That’s—Varian, did you… did you pass out? I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— It’s going to be okay. Can you hear me? Varian?”

He doesn’t respond. Why isn’t he responding? All the times he has fainted before, it has always been brief. A few moments or minutes of unconsciousness, and then he’d open his eyes and snarl an insult and be back on his feet as if nothing happened, if one ignored the ill taint to his skin or the way he swayed while he walked. But Varian has—he hasn’t really been walking for a while now, Rapunzel thinks, not really, so— shouldn’t he be waking up? Shouldn’t he be moving by now?

She is shaking, she realizes, almost distant. She stares down at the boy in her arms and feels her heart go cold. Her hands tighten into fists, fire searing up her ruined palms. She feels smothered in her skin, pinched numb at the edges.

“…Varian?”

There is no answer. There is nothing. She cannot hear the rasp of his breathing, cannot see any rise or fall in his chest. He is lifeless, limbs slack like a broken doll’s. Rapunzel is shaking so fiercely his head lulls back; his eyes are half-open and glassy and blank. There is nothing in his face at all.

Rapunzel presses her hand against his chest, over his heart. She knows how to find a heartbeat. She taught herself from painful experience, cradling Eugene in her arms as he finally bled out, feeling the soft thud of his heartbeat die off into silence beneath her hands. She presses that same hand to Varian’s chest and waits.

And she finds nothing.

At first, she doesn’t understand. Rapunzel stares down at her own hand as if it belongs to a stranger. Her skin crawls. The dead weight in her arms makes her shudder. The blankness in Varian’s face makes some part of her go numb and silent.

 _No,_ she thinks. _That’s not fair._ But she cannot find his heartbeat, and his eyes are glassy and blank, and his skin is abnormally cold, almost stiff—

Rapunzel bows her head. Her bandaged and bloody hand clenches in the ratty fabric of Varian’s shirt, bunching up over his heart. The bandages blend in well with the fabric—and of course they do, she thinks, nigh hysterical. He tore up the ends of this shirt to bandage her wounds himself.

Rapunzel holds herself perfectly still, and she breaks down in inches, piece by piece. Her shoulders start to shake. Her face is bloodless, lips near blue. Her eyes are wide open and staring, and when the tears start they are as a rapid as a downpour, uncomfortably warm against cold cheeks.

Her own tears startle her. One hand flies to her face and stops inches from her eye. She can see the blood on her fingers. She can feel the tears pressing hot behind her eyelids, that awful pressure pounding behind her skull like a drum.

_It’s not fair._

“It’s not fair,” Rapunzel murmurs, thin and stuttering. “This isn’t… i-isn’t fair, this can’t be happening. I, I have to do something. I can—I can’t... I… can’t—”

Her hand rises to her face and she stops. She feels the tears trail down her cheek, and her breath catches at the sensation, a memory striking her. Hope is like the sun, rising up in her throat.

“I… can,” Rapunzel breathes. “I can do something. I can—”

Her hand drops back to Varian’s chest, checking for his heartbeat, bracing him. She catches the tear on her fingertips, the one part of her hand left unbandaged, and presses her hand against his cheek, supporting his head on her knee like she might a much younger child’s.

Rapunzel draws in a rattling breath. Her lips are so numb she can hardly begin, but then—Rapunzel has been singing every day for her almost whole life. She has known this song by heart since before she even knew how to speak. She has sung this melody half-asleep, has sung it when deathly ill, in midnight hours if Mother came home late and in early morning hours if she left early.

Rapunzel curls her fingers, ignoring the pain in her hands, the tremble in her arms or her voice. She ignores all of it, and she sings.

 

_Flower, gleam and glow,_

_Let your power shine…_

For so long, she has always assumed that it was no longer there, gone when her hair was cut. And her hair—it had come back. Not the same as it once was, but _back._ And even then, she thought it gone. But the Moon calls her Sundrop. The golem shattered at the touch of her blood.

She had thought that power dead and gone, but after all this, she is starting to think—maybe there is something left after all.

 

_Make the clock reverse,_

_Bring back what once was mine…_

It must work, she thinks. She healed Eugene with this tear, with this song. Even if her hair can no longer glow, even if this song has left her… she can still cry. She can still do this. She brought Eugene back from death, and for the first time it occurs to Rapunzel to wonder—

Well.

Can’t she save Varian, too?

 

_Heal what has been hurt,_

_Change the fates' design,_

_Save what has been lost…_

They have finally begun to heal, at last something other than enemies, and she refuses to let his story end here. Not like this. Not in a place like this, with only her for company.

…She doesn’t want to face the end alone.

 

_Bring back what once was mine_

_What once was mine…_

She waits with bated breath. The tears, shining on his cheek, fading away. She waits, patiently, for the light to come. For the glow to start. For anything, any sign at all, that it is not too late to save him.

Nothing happens.

Rapunzel stares down at Varian. “What?” she whispers. “N-no, no, this isn’t— why—”

She swipes a hand across her face, leaving streaks of blood under her bloodshot eye, and press that tear-stained hand to his cheek once again. Maybe the magic just—needs another push. Another try. “ _Make the clock reverse…”_

Nothing.

_“H-heal what has been hurt…”_

Nothing.

“ _Change—c-change—_ no, no, no! No! Why— _why—”_ Rapunzel breaks off, a scream building in her throat. It isn’t working. She doesn’t understand. The last time she had healed like this… it had been an accident, yes, but Eugene had—her tears had still—

Her mind whirls, a million thoughts rushing through her head. She has never been able to heal since that day. She thought her power gone completely when her hair was cut, before the rocks brought it back. But even then—no reaction from the song, no glow, and after Eugene had come back…

No healing.

Understanding strikes her like a physical blow. It’s some sort of sick joke, it must be, because what that means—the Moon’s eternal smile, the golem shattering beneath her fingertips. _You are the Sundrop,_ the Moon had said, as if that made all the difference—but there is nothing there. The power to harm, yes. But her tears are useless and the healing doesn’t come, the song broken and faltering on her tongue.

Which means—Varian, then, he is—

He’s so cold, she realizes, sudden and stunned. He’s so cold.

“No,” she starts, and then reality catches up to her and her voice rises into a shriek. “ _No!”_ Before she can even think to stop herself, she raises her hand and slams her fist hard against Varian’s chest. “No, no… Varian! _Varian!_ Get up!”

There is no response, and Rapunzel slams her fist against his chest again. She’s sobbing now. Her hit is weak and useless. “Work!” she shouts. “W- _work!_ Flower— _flower, gleam and glow—”_

Nothing.

“Why!? Why isn’t it…!”

Her fury falls, the desperation fading into pleading. “Get up,” Rapunzel says, and her voice breaks on the words, cracks right down the middle. “Please, please, get _up,_ I can’t… I can’t do this again. Don’t make me watch this happen again. Why, Varian, why now _,_ why did you have to do this _now,_ we—”

Her breath shudders, softens, fades.  “We’re so close,” Rapunzel says, and suddenly her voice is quiet, weak to her own ears. “We… we were so close. The end, the end was just…right _here._ It’s right here.  _We’re right here,_ Varian, it’s almost over, it’s the end, y-you can’t—”

 ** _Yes,_** says a voice. **_That’s right._**

Rapunzel stops mid-breath.

**_The end._ **

She looks up, inch by inch, every movement painful and slow.

 ** _Here you are,_** says the Moon. **_Here at last._**

Rapunzel stares up at her, blank-eyed. She feels as if she’s been struck silent; the whiplash is too much. Another few tears trail unheeded down her cheek. She doesn’t respond.

The Moon just smiles. She hovers over the ground, standing only inches away, drifting serene and ghost-like in the air. Her hair floats gently in some invisible wind. Her expression is almost kind, and it sends shivers down Rapunzel’s spine.

Her bright eyes are fixed solely on Rapunzel, and she doesn’t look at Varian at all.

 ** _One last ordeal. One last test to decide if you are truly the person I need._** She reaches out a hand, almost inviting. **_One last choice to make, before you decide for the rest of us. Isn’t it exciting? It’s almost over._**

Her smile is stretched wide, peeling back from her teeth. It doesn’t reach her eyes. Her outstretched hand holds steady in the air, her fingers curled up like claws. The air ripples with a smothered anticipation that makes Rapunzel’s chest go tight.

Rapunzel looks up at her, and doesn’t say a word.

 ** _I told you before, did I not? A final exam, of sorts. A test of your character. To see what you are made of… to see if you are enough. Well, here it is._** Her hands splay, a grand gesture, one hand flippantly pointing to Varian. Her eyes never leave Rapunzel’s face. **_Delightful, isn’t it? You created some trouble for me, bringing him here, but I am nothing if not adaptable. And this works far better than my original plan. For that, I suppose I should thank you._**

The reaching hand rises, pointing out past Rapunzel’s head. Behind her—the bridge. The path. That soft light radiating out, and the source of it. The center of the tower, the Moondrop at the heart of it all.

**_There, Sundrop girl. There is your destiny._ **

The Moon’s smile grows. Her blazing eyes turn into little upside-down happy crescents. Her lips coil with quiet expectation, breathless waiting. Her whole being shimmers like a star.

**_Now, go. Go and claim your place in this world. This is the choice I give to you. Leave this boy here, where he belongs… and walk the path you were always meant to take._ **

Rapunzel stares at her. She opens her mouth as if to speak and no words come. Her shoulders tremble. The sting behind her eyes fades away only to be replaced by an aching knot in her gut. 

 ** _Leave him here,_** says the Moon, her voice soft, her words lulling. **_Leave him be._**

Rapunzel cannot breathe. Her hands clench so tightly her knuckles pop. Her eyes are wide and blank. Tears shine wet on her cheeks, mingling with dried blood and dirt. She can feel the stiff tug of drying blood on her skin.

Her hands curl around Varian’s lifeless body, and her voice rasps in her throat.

“…what?”

 ** _Leave him behind,_** Moon urges, her voice growing colder, almost impatient. She is still smiling. Her eyes dig into Rapunzel, expectant and knowing, a mother disappointed by confusion over something she sees as utterly simple. No question of being wrong. No chance of disobedience.  _I am right, and you are wrong._

 ** _Go,_** says the Moon, and in that unearthly voice Rapunzel can hear the echo of someone else, a memory of a different kind of monster. **_Take the opal, my Moondrop. Take it, and prove to me your worth. Make the right choice._**

Her voice rattles in her chest. Thin and small and shrinking, and she feels so much younger than she is. “You… you want me to…”

 ** _But of course. Really now, Sundrop girl. Why must you hesitate?_** Moon leans in. **_The path is clear. Your destiny and all of its glory lies before you. It is far past time you accepted it._**

Rapunzel doesn’t move. She is younger than she truly is, she is standing in a different tower, looking up at a different woman. _Listen to me,_ the ghost whispers, a poisonous hiss in her ears and in her heart. Even after Gothel’s death, she could never escape the whispers. _I know best, you stupid girl. You think they care for you? You think you matter at all?_ A whole world filled with people worth nothing, and Rapunzel, who was forced to hide from them, worth less than even that. _They do not deserve you._

It’s not the same. Not really. But it is not so different, either. An easy choice, an answer given to her on a silver platter, a cold ultimatum. Hatred towards the rest of world, senseless cruelty and the expectation that Rapunzel will follow their words blindly into the dark.

Rapunzel’s eyes drop to Varian, and it makes something deep within her tremble and break to see his face. She is alone here. Alone in a labyrinth with the corpse of a boy that she still, even now, cannot bring herself to call a friend.

“No.”

Moon blinks down at her. Her smile doesn’t falter, but the edges curdle. … ** _No?_**

Rapunzel doesn’t look at her. She studies Varian’s face, his dull eyes, the colorless cast to his skin. In death his expression is unnaturally slack, a blank canvas that doesn’t suit him at all. He looks young. He _was_ young. He was angry and hateful and hurt, her friend and her enemy and maybe even a little brother, almost, before everything fell apart—and now he’s nothing. Now he’s just gone.

From the moment she appeared, the Moon has not looked to Varian even once.

“No,” Rapunzel says, her voice tight and strangled. A strange calm washes over her. She feels lightheaded, distant, cast away from herself. “I won’t do it.”

Moon’s hand falls back to her side. Her eyes are wide, something desperate crawling in the edges of her expression. She is no longer smiling.

**_I… I do not understand._ **

“It’s not that hard,” Rapunzel says, far-away, dreamlike and merciless. She can’t tell if she’s angry or hurt or maybe just about to cry. She doesn’t know. She looks away from Moon and Varian both, staring off at some distant place, looking past those dark walls as if she can find an answer in the reflection. “I won’t go. I won’t do what you want. That’s all.”

The Moon stares at her. Then the god tilts back her head and breaks into laughter. There is nothing joyful in the sound. It is bitter and broken and furious.

**_Oh! Is that it? Is that all?_ **

Rapunzel lowers her eyes to the ground. She holds her next inhale—bracing, preparing.

 ** _I’m afraid that you have misunderstood me!_** Moon says, almost light. Her words glitter with malice.  ** _Let me be clear. This is your choice, my dear: You leave, and you live, and you achieve your destiny. Or you stay…_** She trails off, letting the silence stretch. **_And your path ends here. For good._**

“Yes,” Rapunzel says. Her voice is faint. Her fingers strangle fabric, fire in her veins and building behind her eyes. “I g-gathered that, thank you. I’m still won’t do it.”

Moon’s fingers grasp briefly at the air before she forces her hands back to her side. Her whole form is shuddering, a dizzying blur of light.

 ** _You would dare?_** she asks. **_You would dare to defy me? After all I have done to guide you here… all I have done for this moment. You dare squander it? You dare waste it? And for what—_ spite!? **

For the first time, her eyes turn to Varian. Her hand snaps out, accusing. **_I chose him because you HATED him! That boy, there! You hate him! You fear him!_** Her voice rises. **_I have made this an easy choice, and you still—!_**

Abruptly the Moon draws back, her mouth snapping shut, teeth clicking. Her breathing is heavy and loud, rasping like broken stone. **_I… I waited eons for this! You are my last chance, you_ stupid _girl! You’re the only creature on this pathetic planet that can prove me right, that can prove I still have some chance at redemption, that no matter my actions, I was still_ right! _You are the only who can make this choice, who can make these long years have any meaning at all! You, you are nothing like her, you are nothing like Sun, and yet—and yet…!_**

The Moon stops, seemingly unable to continue. If she had been any other sort of creature, her gasping breathes could almost be the start of a sob.

Rapunzel doesn’t move, and she doesn’t answer. She curls her fingers into the fabric and waits.

 ** _How pathetic,_** Moon snarls, at last.  ** _He was not even your friend._**

Rapunzel closes her eyes.

**_And yet. Here you are._ **

She doesn’t answer.

**_Here you are, dying for a boy who does not merit your pity. Do you really care for him that much? He does not deserve it._ **

Rapunzel bows her head. “Stop,” she says at last. “Please stop talking.”

 ** _He is selfish, cruel, manipulative and self-centered._** Moon’s voice is rising.  ** _He is angry and hateful and destructive. He has done nothing but hurt you; he has been nothing but unkind._**

“Shut up.” The bandages, the bombs, a quiet admission in the dark. _I’m sorry that happened to you. The tower. …You didn’t deserve that._

**_Do you really owe him anything? Can you look me in the eyes and say that you forgive him?_ **

“Stop,” Rapunzel says. An apology, a laugh that had to be surprised out of him. He had not hugged her back, but he had let her hug him.

**_Of course you can’t. So why? Why are you_ ** **fighting _me!? Surely even you are not so blind! Even if you are not like Sun, I imagined you could at least be_ reasonable!**

Rapunzel clenches her hand into a fist. “That’s not it. Stop it.” _I’m sorry!_

 ** _So what is it, then?_** the Moon snarls. She gestures grandly at the empty hall. **_Am I wrong? Is he your friend? Is he a person worth saving?_** Her voice turns dark, almost sly, lowering into a goading hiss. **_Go on, then!_ Prove  _it._**

“P-prove—”

 ** _Sing your song, little Sundrop. Let the flower glow._** Her eyes gleam.  ** _Bring the boy back, and I’ll go away._**

Rapunzel stills. Her next words lodge in her throat.

 ** _It’s very simple, you see. If you do care, if he does matter, then he should heal, yes?_** The Moon is all smiles again, almost sweet. Her lips curl with a secret satisfaction, her self-control returned to her. **_Humans like him don’t deserve second chances. The magic will know. Let it decide, if you cannot trust me. Let your power, your heart, be the judge._**

Rapunzel inhales through her teeth, tasting blood and bitterness. There is a burning now, a new kind of fire beneath her skin. It sears her veins and makes her every word tremble, barely restrained. She feels as if she’s been slapped. “How dare you,” Rapunzel snarls, and shakes, strangled in her own skin. “How—how _dare_ you say— That’s not true. That’s not _true!_ ”

 ** _What are you hesitating for?_** the Moon demurs, utterly unaffected. **_All talk, no action. Let the magic speak for itself. This is the deal I am offering. If he does not heal, then you will know I am right, and you will finally take the proper path. And if he does heal, I will accept that you are right, and leave you be. Simple, yes? Surely even you can see that’s fair. So go on, Sundrop girl!_** ** _Sing! Heal—_**

The words scrape free from her throat, a breathless shout of mingled fury and grief. “I already _tried!_ ”

The Moon stops. Her eyes go wide, her smile struck off her face. She stutters in the air and in her words, faltering for the first time. **_You—what? But… I, I didn’t… that’s—w-when, when did you—_**

A laugh bubbles up Rapunzel’s throat, broken and bloody and awful. It breaks into giggles, then into a sob, then into nothing. She clutches Varian close as if this alone is enough to bring him back. His head rests limp against her shoulder, a painful mirror to how he had been only hours ago, when she hugged him in the ground floor of the tower. Except this will not bring him comfort, now. He is already long gone.

“For someone who’s supposed to see everything, you’re pretty blind, aren’t you,” Rapunzel says, and the words are wry, almost cruel. Her lip trembles. “What, were you not looking? Did you just not care?” Her voice rises, falters and cracks. “I tried. I tried! And, and the song, it didn’t… it didn’t work.”

Rapunzel falters, her gaze going distant. Her next breath rattles in her chest, her words quiet and soft, almost to herself. “I… I don’t understand. Why? …Why didn’t it work?”

 ** _…Then,_** Moon says. Her voice wavers: uncertain, desperate, frantic. **_You see what I mean, then, don’t you? Even magic has abandoned him. It knows. He is—_**

_“No.”_

Moon’s mouth snaps shut, words silenced. She stares.

Rapunzel is shaking. “No,” she says again. “No, it’s not like that. It’s  _not._ ” She looks up at Moon, her eyes hot, her heart burning. She has no idea what expression she’s making, but whatever Moon sees on her face makes her flinch.

“Do you—” Rapunzel starts, breathless, hating her more with every passing second. “Do you really think I— how stupid do you think I am? Really? Do you think I can’t tell when you’re _lying_ to me?”

She takes a deep breath and her smothered scream is a strangled noise through clenched teeth. “Everyone, everyone always _lies_ to me! Every time! Either because you think I’m stupid or naïve or— well, I’m sick of it! I’m tired of it! I want the _truth_!”

Moon doesn’t answer. She’s drawn away, her form utterly focused, utterly still, no more afterimages or echoes. She has a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. She looks as if she’s seen a ghost.

Something in Moon’s face—something in her expression—it resonates. Like looking into a mirror. Her own grief, her own regret, her own anger. Rapunzel’s fury bleeds away and leaves nothing in its wake. She slumps.

The silence stretches, unbroken. Rapunzel closes her eyes.

“That’s not how it works,” she whispers at last. “The song… the healing magic… it’s not…” She doesn’t know what she’s saying, does not even know if it matters. There are so many echoes in her head, so many whispers, too much emotion to bear. Varian is cold and still in her arms. “S-she… Mother… she wasn’t a good person. But the song still worked. Every single time. It always worked.”

Rapunzel can feel the tears rise up, and opens her eyes, too tired to fight them. They feel cold against her flushed cheeks. The whole world is blurry. “I, I don’t… I don’t understand. I don’t understand what you want from me. What anyone wants from me. W-what’s _so_ important that—that you’d have to do this? _Did_ you have to do this? Why… locking people in towers. In labyrinths. What’s the point?” Her head lifts. She stares up at the Moon, almost pleading. “What do you even  _want?”_

The Moon doesn’t answer, and Rapunzel bows her head.

“I didn’t want this,” she says, almost a whisper. “No one ever asks what I want. But I didn’t want this. I—I…”

A memory. Final words before the end, before she remembered a truth that would end up bringing that whole tower crashing down. Gothel’s words, quiet and bitter, lingering in the silence. _The world is dark, and cold, and cruel. If it finds even the slightest ray of sunshine_ … _it destroys it._

Years and years of believing that happiness could not exist outside of her tower. No happy ending to be found for the girl who dared to venture beyond the walls.

“Just once,” Rapunzel says, her voice cracking; half a prayer, half to herself. “Just once, I wanted… I want a happy ending.”

(A whisper, a wish, a promise. A defiance in the face of reality. A battle of wills against the world.

And deep inside Rapunzel’s heart, something finally clicks into place.)

The tower ignites.

Light illuminates the dark world. It comes so suddenly there is no time to prepare, surging to life before her eyes, so bright it blinds Rapunzel instantly. The whole world is consumed by a blazing gold; ivory light and sunshine glow bursts like a star blown supernova right before her eyes.

It rises up like a tower and breaks apart, swelling and then unfolding like a flower, radiant and incandescent, drowning out everything else. It streams through the air, moving with purpose and direction, a river of golden light. It brushes Rapunzel’s cheek as if to wipe away her tears, coils up the pillars and bobs and weaves in the empty space, setting the whole tower aglow, the world made luminescent.

The heat is next to hit her. Warmth like a hearth fire, comforting and secure like a hand in hers. It buffets her face like a summer breeze and coils through her loose hair, strands swaying. The spots fade from her vision, but the light—the light lingers, stays, grows only stronger. 

Rapunzel stays still, stunned silent, watching with wide eyes as the light dances around her. It is everywhere, it is bright, it is _real._ It shifts and coils through the air like a living thing, curling around her face and haloing the dead boy in her arms. It reflects off the dark walls and shines in the ceiling and floors, it echoes and echoes and _echoes_ —

The Moon _screams._

Rapunzel’s head snaps up, heart stopping in her chest, the scream ringing in her ears. The Moon screams again, shorter, wailing. Her hands hide her face from view. She is no longer floating. Her feet are flat on the ground, starry cloak brushing the floors, stumbling away from the light as if it burns.

**_No, no! Stop! Stop it! I don’t want to see this!_ **

She is crying, Rapunzel realizes, and the insight strikes her like a blow. The Moon is—

But it is too late to help, even if Rapunzel wanted to. Moon stumbles away and the light follows her relentlessly, moths to flame. The golden glow tangles at her feet and pulls at the Moon’s hands, vicious and insistent. She screams again, almost a sob, curling inward—the light pulls around her, a golden cloak, a second skin—

The Moon cries out one last time, almost a plea, almost a name, and then the light coils gently around her being and shatters her like glass.

She breaks like stone, like the golem, cracked straight through—and then the Moon vanishes, leaving nothing but the light where she once stood.

But the light does not fade away. It pulls itself together, weaving like thread, like a tapestry, condensing and shaping itself. Rapunzel cannot look away. She stares, breath still, entrapped and enchanted as the light shifts into something almost… real. The vague outline of a person, a whisper of something else. Humanoid and so tall Rapunzel has to crane her neck just to see where their face would be, with a curtain of hair that falls in vague tight curls from their head, a shining river of hair long enough to rival Rapunzel’s own. There are no features, no details—no color but for the light, this indistinct shimmering memory, this being created in the echoes of power, taking Moon’s place in the center of the tower.

Words drift and whisper through the air, slithering in Rapunzel’s head, resounding in her ears as loud as drums. A murmur of music, the memory of a song. There is someone singing, someone screaming, someone speaking. Their voice comes from far away, a memory brought into reality by a magic even Rapunzel cannot understand.

_You lied to me. It was you. You, all along. …Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Don’t lie to me, Moon! I want the truth!_

The light brightens, sears against her eyes like a burning star. Rapunzel cringes, clutching Varian close almost on instinct; in her arms his body burns hot and feverish, fire beneath his skin. There is gold slithering in his veins, light curling around him like the gentle touch of a mother. Rapunzel barely has time to notice, to recognize and realize, before the whispers rise up in her head, growing ever louder, rising and rising until her ears ache and head rings. The walls are singing. They are calling. They are screaming.

The figure stumbles towards them, limping as if bowed under some great weight. One hand formed of blurred and buzzing light lifts to their head. The whispers twist into a wail.

_How **could** you!? They didn’t do anything to you! They didn’t deserve this!_

The figure takes another loping step, closer now, too close for comfort. Rapunzel shudders, finally gaining enough presence of mind to move. She scrambles back, pulling Varian with her; the figure just keeps on coming.

Something like emotion seems to pulse through the light, a feeling so strong it transcends. A ricochet of grief. Of horror. Regret, pain, disbelief. Hatred.

Defiance.

_It’s not fair._

Another step. The noise is clamoring, rising so high Rapunzel can barely think. She watches the figure advance, and the words resound within her ears, a horrible echo to her own words, her own plea only moments ago.

_I didn’t want this!_

The light writhes in agony, the figure blurring and then abruptly snapping into complete focus, solid form. The being stands tall above them, towering over Rapunzel. They are as fragile and faded as a memory, woven entirely of light, but in this moment they seem more real than even Rapunzel.

The shadow draws back their hand, and a scorching blade shimmers into being.

_Oh, Moon._

They strike.

_You were **wrong.**_

The world _shrieks,_ the echo of a far-off scream, and everything goes dark. The light bursts out into fading sparks, the glow extinguished as abrupt as a candle flame. The figure vanishes without a trace, snuffed out of existence just like everything else.

The gold light flares—once, twice, thrice like the beating of a heart—and then at last goes out completely, leaving Rapunzel alone in the dark.

 

-

 

Varian wakes up.

He opens his eyes to blinding light and shuts them just as fast. Behind his eyelids the world burns orange and gold, so bright that for a moment he almost thinks he’s still dreaming, still in that sunlit-fire fog. In the back of his mind he can still see the dreaming world, can hear the echo of another’s voice and feel the warmth of someone holding his hand, squeezing tight. The sense of not being alone.

The light is vivid even though his eyes are closed, and the memory of the dream fades, whatever lingering hold it had fading in the burning glow. The feeling—the warmth—lingers on.

He dares to open his eyes again, wincing at the unfaltering shine. The world seems near unreal, bright like a star and warm like fire. For once the cold he has grown used to is beaten back, and the air ripples in the heat, resounding with some awful echo—a scream or a plea, something ancient and decaying, no longer here. There is an arm against his back, sitting him upright, and his head is resting against a shoulder—

Is someone hugging him? 

Varian doesn’t understand. Everything is too bright, too confusing. He can’t remember what he was doing before now or how he got here. But he’s warm, and he feels strangely safe, and that is enough to stave off his reaction. Varian holds himself carefully still and waits.

When the light goes out, the darkness is so sudden he can’t help but gasp, inhaling sharply through his teeth in surprise. He blinks fast, trying to adjust, and the arms holding him close abruptly tighten, almost painful.

“V-Varian?”

“What?” he tries to say, but for some reason the words stick, and he coughs. A hand grips his shoulder, Varian released so that he can be held at arm’s length. He’s lying on the floor, the marble dusty beneath his hands, but he feels strangely warm even so, the chill chased away by an unending warmth and a curl of heat deep in his chest.

He blinks rapidly, trying to keep up; his eyes catch on a pile of gold hair snaking across the marble floor. He stares, bemused. Then the sight registers. Gold hair. Someone is hugging him. And in the absence of the golden glow, a new light has made itself known—blue light against the darkness—

All at once, reality snaps back into place, the last of his daze shattered. The golem. The staircase. Faltering and fading and counting his breaths, and then—

A crossroads and a woman and a final damnation. _This is as far as you’ll go._

And yet. Here he is.

“Rapunzel?” Varian asks, bewildered. “I—what, what happened, I—”

“ _Varian!”_ Rapunzel says, and before he can reply she just about knocks him over with her hug. Her embrace is so tight it almost hurts, and Varian goes stiff and still, caught off-guard, uncertain on how to react.

“Um, I—I, I don’t— what—”

“You’re okay!”

“I’m…” Reason reasserts itself. Varian freezes. “I’m… okay. But I shouldn’t be. Wait, I—I died. I died? I—”

Rapunzel makes an awful noise at that, something soft and shuddering. Varian’s mouth snaps shut. “I thought I couldn’t heal you,” she murmurs, voice so quiet he almost misses it. “My hair… the song… my tears… nothing happened. It didn’t work. It d-didn’t—”

She’s hugging him tight, which is the only reason Varian notices the abrupt tautness in her shoulders, her arms going rigid and immovable around him. “It… it didn’t work. It _didn’t.”_ She’s absolutely frozen. “So… so how…”

Her healing powers didn’t work, but there was light—and here he is regardless.

Varian winces at the thought, looking away. He doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want her hugging him, he doesn’t want—he doesn’t want to be here, wherever ‘here’ is. This dark room, those looming statues, that ivory light spilling from distant doors. It’s a room that reeks of magic and loss, and that he might have become a permanent resident here makes his skin crawl. That he is still alive only because Rapunzel grieved for him is…

…He isn’t sure what to think. Rapunzel had… she had actually grieved for him. He hadn’t been entirely sure she would.

“…I don’t know,” Varian says at last, stiff and awkward in her hold. Aaaah, why is she still—no, no, don’t freak out. She watched him die. She probably deserves a few moments to pull herself together, even if Varian feels unnerved at being that emotional crutch. “I don’t know, but, it. It did work. Eventually.” He swallows hard and tries to shrug. “I’m… I’m still here.”

Rapunzel drags in a wobbly breath, and finally pulls away from the hug, her hand rising to rub at her eyes. Varian tries not to relax too noticeably. “Y-yeah. Yeah. It… it worked. You’re here. You’re okay. That’s… that’s really great.”

She drops her hand and lifts her head to smile at him, and Varian’s next breath locks in his throat. He chokes, then coughs, and jumps when she reaches for him.

“You—your eyes!”

Rapunzel blinks at him, and then her hands fly to her face. “What?”

“Your eyes,” Varian says, feeling struck. His hand drops to his side. “They’re… glowing.”

And they _are_ glowing. Bright and golden, a starburst of light swallowing up her iris, light instead of pupil, only the barest hints of green still remaining at the edges of her irises. But it is faint and fading, and when she blinks at him, the light fades a little more, green bleeding into gold even as he watches.

“They are?” Rapunzel asks, and reaches up a hand as if to touch her face before apparently thinking better of it. “Oh. O-oh. Okay.”

He almost laughs, but her eyes are—actually, no, he’s kind of freaking out a bit. She looks _weird_ with her eyes like this, gold and glowing, her hair a heavy curtain framing her face. She is the Sundrop, he _knows_ that—and for once, she actually looks like it. “You—um, you’re taking this… pretty calmly? I don’t—”

Rapunzel swallows hard. Her hands shake in the air, and she stares at her bandaged palms. “It’s. At this point. It’s really not the strangest thing to have happened.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he ends up saying nothing at all. They wait together in silence, and when the last of the gold fades away from her iris, Rapunzel tilts her head and blinks fast, squinting into the room.

“Um. Is it—are my eyes—normal again?”

“…Yeah. How’d you—?”

“They were—hot. Really hot. Burning. Almost itchy. But now they’re not, so I…”

“…Oh.” There’s a clue there, an answer to something—but to what, Varian hasn’t the strength to find out. “Okay?”

Rapunzel draws her hand away from her face cautiously, her expression troubled. She blinks hard, then abruptly wipes the back of her hand against the hollows of her eyes, wincing like they’re irritating her. Maybe they are. It might not even be the strange golden shine—it could just be from tears. They’ve both cried so much here; it can’t possibly be good for them.

“Never mind that,” Rapunzel says finally. She swallows thickly, wiping at her eyes one last time before letting her hands drop, looking to Varian. “How… how about you? How do you feel?”

Varian opens his mouth to answer and stops. He feels… he feels…

“Fine,” he says, so quiet it's barely there. “I… I feel… fine.”

And he does. He really, really does. He feels absolutely wonderful. His leg isn’t hurting at all. There’s no pain, not in his ear, or his eyes, or his feet. Even the constant irritation from the manacles still clamped on his wrists has faded, and when he grips his wrist he finds smooth unmarked skin instead of the raw scabbed mess he’d expected.

“I feel great,” Varian says distantly. He doesn’t feel hungry, or sleepy, though apparently magic isn’t enough to heal bone-deep emotional exhaustion. Even his ear—

A sudden feverish need to know grips at him, and Varian scrambles at the bandages on his right leg. He tears off the sticky fabric easily enough, hardly daring to breathe. It’s hard to see here, with only that distant blue glow for light, and the spots of that golden shine still dancing behind his eyes, but—

Smooth, unbroken skin, as if he had never been cut. Barely minutes ago, this leg had been infected, swollen with poison and killing him by inches, and now…

He brings his hand up to his ear, heart pounding. He tears off the bandage in one quick pull, and it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt at all.

Varian touches his mangled ear with shaking fingers. No pain. No infection. No raw wound or broken skin. And yet—

He lifts his hand to his ear, and his fingers catch in an unnatural dip. A missing piece.

Whatever magic brought him back has healed over the wounds, but it has not returned what he lost. His ear doesn’t hurt… but it’s still missing.

Varian curls his fingers over the remaining half of his ear, feeling a horrible sting rise behind his eyes. It is so stupid. It is so, so stupid. The first time in months he’s no longer in any pain, and he’s still on the verge of tears. Still angry, because the magic healed his leg and apparently brought him back from the clutch of death, but his ear—

“Varian?”

“ _What_?” he snaps, trying not to cry, and glares at Rapunzel before he can stop himself. “What do you—” He stops mid-word at the look on her face, shame sudden and hot in his chest. His eyes drop. “…It’s nothing.”

“…It’s okay.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

It’s not, and they both know it. They’ve come this far, done all this, reached the end and reached an accord, he’s apologized—twice, even! —and yet. It is second nature to snap at her, and where once this wouldn’t have bothered him now it makes something hot and sickly and awful crawl beneath his skin. He is not used to guilt.

He doesn’t say anything else, however, and the silence stretches on. Their breathing echoes. He forces his hand from his healed— _torn—_ ear, and tries to think of something to say.

“So,” Varian says, at last.

“So.”

“…What now?”

Rapunzel’s gaze drops to the floor, almost contemplative. Then she turns and looks behind her. The lone light in the room, the dark bridge and the white skeleton, the strange cage of black stone at the end of the path. He can see the shadowy figures of the black rocks, deadly spikes pointing out in the abyss, each deadly spire aimed to the light.

Rapunzel stares at the other room steadily. When she speaks, her voice is hushed, almost to herself. “I spoke with Moon. We made it here. We survived. We both… we’re _both_ still here. So, I guess…” The blue glow reflects in her eyes. “Now, I finish this.”

There is a strange weight to her words, a finality to her statement that sends a shiver down his spine. Some uglier part of him wants to mock her, wants to break the moment, wants to say _Hope you don’t fail like you always do—_ but Varian doesn’t. He bites the words back and swallows down the taste of bile.

“Okay,” he says. There’s nothing else for him to say. He’s too tired to hope. An end, but what kind of end will it be? Maybe it will end in freedom—maybe not.

Labyrinths don’t let go so easily.

He stands first, because he can, because his leg doesn’t hurt and he isn’t hungry or drained, and that too is a blessing. The weight of a hundred sleepless nights and missed meals and injured exhaustion all wiped away just like that. He helps Rapunzel up too, and it only takes him a moment to remember to support her, and even less than that to convince himself she deserves it. With every rise and fall of his hand, Varian’s cuffs clink and chime, the broken trailing ends of the chain rattling in the air.

Rapunzel gives him a small smile for the help, accepting his hand more gracefully than he ever accepted anything from her. She sways a bit when she gets on her feet, but steadies herself easily enough.

Rapunzel draws away from Varian with a quiet smile, and turns to the light. She walks out to the bridge alone. When she passes by the rocks they begin to glow, blue and white cross-hairs rippling down the stone. Her hair trails behind her like a king’s mantle.

The light casts her in a dark silhouette. Her back straight, her hands loose by her side. She stands tall, like a queen, and even the bones at her feet or the tattered ends of her dress cannot take away from her strength in this moment.

Rapunzel steps past the bones, towards that blinding light… and stops.

Varian waits, watching her expectantly, but she doesn’t move. Something cold coils in his chest.

“…Rapunzel?”

She’s quiet for a long time. Her shoulders heave with her next breath, deep and shuddering. “It’s… it’s too easy.”

Varian stares at her. “…What?”

This time, her voice is stronger. “It’s too easy.”

He almost laughs, but in truth there is nothing funny about this. After everything—after all that—and she’s just stopped. He wants to scream. “Are—are you _complaining_?”

“No!” Rapunzel says. She still won’t turn back. She still won’t look at him. Her eyes trained on the white glow at the end of the path, but her words soft and quiet, only to him. “I just…”

“Does it matter?” Varian asks, when she can’t seem to continue. All at once he feels very tired. “If it’s easy. Or hard. It’s… it’s just. It’s just the end. It has to be you, either way, right?”

She freezes at that. He can see her shoulders rise towards her ears, taut and tense. Then she slumps, a puppet with her strings cut, her whole body bowing inward.

“Yes,” Rapunzel says. Varian still can’t see her face, her back to him, but there is something odd about the way she speaks, slow and careful, the beginnings of a realization. Around them, before them, behind them—the black rocks flicker with light. Waiting, watching, wondering. As if someone else is peering through, looking down, unable to understand.

“That’s it,” Rapunzel murmurs. “This is what she wants, I think. What she wanted.” She turns back to look at him, and the light casts a long shadow down her face, highlights her bright eyes. “ _It has to be me._ That was… I misinterpreted those words. A while ago. It’s… it’s probably what started this whole mess to begin with.” She blinks fast like she’s about to cry and the smile she offers is shaky but genuine. “But I… I don’t want to walk those paths. I don’t like the roads that destiny has decided for me. I… I chose my own way, long ago, in a dream. So… for this, too, I think…”

Varian stares back at her, feeling strangely helpless. He knows, distantly, what dream she is talking about. A crossroads, the fog, and the endless whispers. But he still doesn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

Rapunzel closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, as if to gather her thoughts. When she opens her eyes again, it is with a smile on her face. A true smile. Something warm and real and bright, something straight out of the past.

Rapunzel lifts her arm, and offers her hand to Varian.

“It has to be me,” Rapunzel says. Her voice is thin, a ruined whisper from all her screaming. Her hands are bandaged tightly, the once-blue cloth now stained dark with her dried blood. But there is not a hint of pain in her face, and deep in her eyes, Varian almost thinks he can see a gleam of gold. “But I think, now… it also has to be _you_. It has to be the both of us. Together.” A breath. “I… I won’t leave you behind. No matter what you decide. But…”

She stops again, another breath. When she speaks, her words are quiet. “Varian. Will you come with me?”

Varian stares at her. His hands shake. He opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out, and he shuts his mouth with a snap. He rocks back on his heels and doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t understand. He has never been more terrified in his life.

“Please, Varian,” Rapunzel says, and her words are soft, almost a plea. “Please, trust me one last time. It’ll be alright. Okay? I—” Her breathing stutters. She stops. She closes her eyes. “I… I promise.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Varian snaps.

Rapunzel flinches, her hand faltering in the air.

“Don’t,” Varian says. His own voice comes out strangled, drawn taut like a wire about to break. “Don’t _say_ that, I told you before, I don’t trust your promises! I _can’t_ _!”_

He’s shaking, Varian realizes. He feels half-way to tears all over again, and it’s _ridiculous._ This whole thing is ridiculous. She doesn’t need his help. She doesn’t need him at all. He was never supposed to be a part of this: not the labyrinth, not the journey, certainly not her destiny. He’s only ever been an unwanted tag-a-long, and his company has done nothing but make her miserable.

It’s absolutely ridiculous, and he still feels like crying over it.

Rapunzel’s hand hovers in the air and then slowly falls, and something about the look on her face—the way her smile falls, eyes lowering, the glow faded from her eyes—it _hurts._ He didn’t want to hurt her again, but he can’t—he can’t trust her promises. He can’t trust anyone’s promises. Even after all this, he still can’t bring himself to forgive her.

But she doesn’t understand, not really, and for the time Varian finally gets it. She doesn’t understand. Her promises are meaningless to him, but her actions are not. She’s helped him. She’s tried to make up for the things she did, and treated him kindly even when he denied his own actions. She saved his life. She _cried_ for him.

It means something. He doesn’t know what. But it matters, and just this once, Varian knows how to make her understand.

Varian takes her hand.

The bandages are rough against his palm, stiff with blood. Her skin is feverishly warm. She stilled at his approach and now she is frozen—staring down at him, uncomprehending, searching his face for an answer. And just this once, Varian knows what to say.

“I don’t trust your promises,” Varian tells her, blunt. His breathing echoes in his ears. He feels light-headed. “But I—” Words fail him. He takes another breath, trying to focus. The floor is like ice against his bare and healed soles; the iron cuffs on his wrists weigh heavy. But her hand is warm in his, and the touch is grounding.

“I trust you,” Varian admits, and the words surprise even himself. But—he means them. This much, at least, he can give her. He can trust she has good intentions. He can trust she thinks this is right.

He can trust that she cares, even after everything, and that will have to be enough.

And maybe it is, because Rapunzel does not argue. Her fingers twitch around his, a gentle comforting pressure despite how painful it must be for her to curl her fingers. Her voice is very soft.

“…Thank you, Varian.”

Her smile is so bright that he has to look away.

Rapunzel steps back, moving towards the light, letting go of his hand. He can see beyond her, now—the bridge, the dark stone cage, the hundreds of deadly black rocks angled toward them. The light, brilliant and intense, radiating from a small crystalline gem that floats serene in the empty air.

A sudden strike of fear makes him falter, and Varian freezes in his tracks, clutching desperately at her hand. Rapunzel pauses, looking back at him—and then she smiles at him again, gentler, understanding. She shifts their grip so that she is holding his hand more securely, and this time when she moves to the light, she pulls him with her, guiding him onwards.

They step out on the bridge together. Varian grips Rapunzel’s hand, following close at her side, feeling like a child but reluctant to pull away. The world ripples like water around them at their entrance: a stillness, a resonance, a sharp intake of breath. Something almost like a whisper.

Rapunzel squeezes his hand. Her eyes are facing forward. Her lips barely move, but her voice is clear. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s going to be okay.” For the first time in a long time, she really sounds like she means it. And for the first time in a long time, Varian can almost make himself believe her.

They walk down the bridge, approaching the gemstone. The light brightens as they near. Through the strange hollows and twisting arms of the dark cage, he can see it flicker, almost like a heartbeat. The light leaves afterimages every time he blinks.

“Together,” Rapunzel says. When he looks up, she is watching him. She is still smiling. There is blood on her face and tears on her cheeks and gold in her eyes, and she’s still smiling. “We’ll go together. Okay?”

His throat is dry. He feels oddly small here, in this room, by her side. But he meant what he said. He trusts her. Even if he can’t forgive her, even if he isn’t sure what they are, friends or enemies or something in-between—even then, despite everything. He trusts her.

“Okay,” Varian says. And then, a reminder to himself: “I trust you.”

Rapunzel smiles at him, and Varian can almost bring himself to smile back.

He lets go of her hand reluctantly, moving away to circle the stone. On the other end, Rapunzel mirrors him. When she gestures, he stops, turning to face the dark cage. They stand on opposite sides of the gem. It glows so brightly he can hardly bear to look at it.

Rapunzel slips her hand through gaps of the cage, gentle and cautious. She reaches for the stone and stops just before she touches it. The light of Moondrop pulses at her proximity, and casts odd ripples across her skin, as if she is standing underwater.

Varian drags in a deep breath, and hesitantly mirrors her. The gaps of the cage are easily big enough for him to fit his hand through, and he mimics her, bringing his hand close but not yet touching the stone. It flares at his action, but it doesn’t do much more than that, the light stuttering as if uncertain. He is so close to the thing he can feel power like crackling static prickle at his palm. The manacle on his wrist looks like liquid silver in the light.

“Ready?” Rapunzel asks him. Her eyes shine near-white in the glow. She looks otherworldly, but her smile is familiar.

“Yes,” Varian says.

They take the stone together.

For the second time, Varian takes Rapunzel’s hand, the Moondrop trapped between their palms. Her fingers squeeze his hand in something like comfort. Varian can feel the stone burning against the hollow of his palm, a cold so intense it scorches, less like holding a gem and more like trying to grasp the stars.

Light spills out from between their fingers. His hand is burning, numb with cold. A pale glow lashes out, striking like a bolt of lightning, mauling the air. The white glow pierces the darkness like a spear, growing, expanding, splitting apart.

The Moondrop blazes, and the ivory light flares—once, twice, thrice like the beating of a heart—and then it bursts, the whole world smothered under a wave of unyielding white, taking the tower, Varian, Rapunzel, and the whole labyrinth with it.

Everything goes black.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh my god, I… I did not actually think I would ever finish this. I can’t believe we’ve gotten to this point. One last chapter to go!! (Sorry about that cliffhanger, by the way……..) 
> 
> I’m pretty sure y’all can guess what might come from this. Maybe?? Either way, most of you called me out LONG before this chapter, and I just had to sit here in silence and try to muffle the spoilers, ahaha. AT ANY RATE. I hope it was at least entertaining!! 
> 
> I’m really excited to finally unveil this chapter to you all. This story has gone through so many changes since I first created it, but that final scene was very clear to me from early on. That final conversation, the battle of wills between Rapunzel and the Moon, was something I’ve been looking forward to for FOREVER, even if I struggled with both Moon and Rapunzel’s characters the whole time. That said, I think it’s a moment that clearly defines which side Rapunzel is on… while also complicating Moon’s own story. I just hope it rang true to them!
> 
> I always planned on Varian dying, and while I know the whole death-and-brought-back thing is a tried and tired Disney cop-out, I felt like in Varian’s case it was… almost necessary. Part of it was that I couldn’t imagine Varian surviving his injuries realistically, and the other part… well, its kind of like a symbolic death as well as an actual death. He realizes and accepts that he does care about Rapunzel _as he dies_ (which is BIG, because up to this point we’ve mostly just seen Rapunzel helping Varian, rather than vice-versa.) And then, he’s brought back. He’s brought back _because Rapunzel cares_ which is brought about in part because _he_ cares. It’s like a redemption loop. Through his genuine actions and remorse, and Rapunzel's good will, Varian is literally given a second chance at life. I thought it rather fitting.
> 
> As for HOW Varian was healed, and why the song didn’t work—there is an answer to that, but it's a bit too long to put here. If anyone’s interested, just shoot me an ask on my blog, and I’ll be happy to share it! Either way, it’ll be revealed soon enough in-story as well. There IS a reason though. I swear I didn’t just do that to be dramatic, ahaha. It’s magical lore! 
> 
> You may also have noticed some changes between here and the canon story—the appearance of the Dark Kingdom, King Edmund, etc. There is a reason for all of those things, as well! While this story is undoubtedly canon-divergence, I did try to put in some thought as to why things went differently here. Again, its an explanation too long for the notes, and it won’t really affect any future events for this fic, but if it’s anyone’s interested… well, that’s there too.
> 
> I don’t know when I'll next update—I have a different story I need to finish up, which may take some time—but at the very least, I hope to finish this story before 2019! So there will definitely be an update sooner rather than later. I’ll make a post on my blog once the draft is finished, as always. You’ve been wonderfully patient with me, guys, and I’m really grateful for it. We’re almost at the finish line!! 
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/180909484537/title-labyrinths-of-the-heart-synopsis-plagued) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Thank you, again, for all your support and enthusiasm for this story. Your comments and kind words are what inspired me to finish this monster of a chapter at all. I hope this update was worth the wait, and please, let me know what you thought!


	10. One More Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS FINALLY DONE _AAAAAAAAAAAAAA_
> 
> Ohhhhh gosh, this chapter took far longer than I thought it would, and I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it…. Ahaha, is it sad to say I rarely ever write endings?? This is one of the rare times I actually finish a fic!! It’s a new but really nice feeling, oh man. Anyways-- I know it was a bit of a wait, so I hope this finale lives up to expectations!!
> 
> I want to give a special thanks to my friends Kris, Fae and AquaQuadrant before I say any more, though. Their feedback and support and just— their friendship was a really big highlight of my 2018, and they all really helped me through writing this fic!! So I just want to say-- thank you guys so much! All your kind words and thoughtful comments pushed me to do better every time, and I feel like I’ve grown a lot as a writer just from the experience. I really appreciate it, and just— ahh, I don't really know what to say-- so really, just... thank you so, so much ❤️
> 
> I also want to give a special thanks to all the lovely people who’ve been drawing fanart for this fic!!! (You can find those lovely works [here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/tagged/amazing-art)) It blows me away every time, and you guys are all so talented!! I’m truly honored that you liked my fic enough to draw for it!! Thank you so much!! ❤️❤️
> 
> And of course, I just want to say thank you to everyone. Each and every comment, kudos, reblog, response… it really means so much to me, to see what people think of my writing and of my fic. I’ve never had such a large and positive response to my work before, so I’m just so grateful to have met all of you!! I know I’m taking a while to reply to all your comments (and I hope to catch up soon!!) but I just want to say that it really means a lot!! I never would have finished this story without you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this final chapter! ❤️
> 
> **Warnings for:** blood, impalement, graphic descriptions of wounds, near-death situations, death threats (again, via Moon, as always), mentions of past child abuse and past character death. If there’s anything you feel I might have missed, please let me know and I’ll add it on here!

 

There is a time of night that lingers on between the midnight hours and the break of dawn, a time when the darkness is so thick and cloying that even the stars seem dim. When they were kids, Lance used to tell tall tales of this time, the magic and monsters that breathed in the shadows, that time that felt almost timeless. Eugene had never put much stock into those stories, but as he picks his way across the dismal landscape, he cannot help but think back on them. 

The Dark Kingdom is well-suited for this dark before dawn. Timeless hours for a timeless place. It’s a land of dirt and black stone, and absolutely nothing else. It feels like a different realm entirely, disconnected and displaced from the real world. Like a nightmare come to life, or one of Lance’s horror stories made flesh, and while Eugene has never been one for fables, after the fight he just had, he’s a little more inclined to believe in the superstition. 

On the other hand, Eugene reflects, he could just be tired. Because—and in hindsight, he should have seen this coming—he is very, very tired.

This past week, barely six full days, has felt more like an eternity. He has gone through so much emotional whiplash it’s starting to get ridiculous. Rapunzel’s absence gapes like an open wound, and even Varian’s loss is starting to grate on him. After over a month of constant travel and conversation, it is strangely hollowing to look around, expecting a sullen scowl and snapped retort, and find absolutely nothing. Rapunzel’s laughter; Varian’s dull bitterness—the absence _pulls._

The confrontation with the Moon, meeting Adira—these things had helped, in their own way. It had given them a purpose, a goal to focus on besides the grief. But even that has now gone stale. Their return from the mountain is made in shameful silence. They have confronted the Moon and lived to tell of it, but the battle ended with a loss on both sides. No answers, no victory—no Rapunzel or Varian. 

Eugene knew going in that this would be the result—the best possible solution. It’s still crippling. 

They are running away, leaving the mountain behind once more, leaving Rapunzel to her fate. It burns even worse the second time around.

Eugene hitches his foot against crumbling stone, and hefts himself up the cliff-face, bare fingers digging into the crevasses of the soft rock. The wasteland is mostly flat but for a few craggy and jutting hills, looking as if they’d been torn right up from the ground and left to stand as a warning. The stone here is weaker than the black rocks, but still solid—the edges of the cliff poke hard into his palm, sharp and uncomfortable. 

Eugene grits his teeth, reaching the top of the cliff. He pulls himself over the ledge and rolls over onto his back, breathing in deeply through his nose. He keeps his eyes closed, counting the seconds under his breath, then rolls back onto his feet and goes over to help Cassandra up. She hasn’t asked for help once this whole return, but he knows her arms are bothering her. There’s no other reason for why she’s lagging behind both Adira _and_ Eugene otherwise. 

Eugene leans over the ledge and offers his hand, and smiles when Cassandra scowls up at him. With her gloves on and sleeves rolled down, he can’t see her arms, but he knows they must be bruised black-and-blue. His neck is looking—or well, _feeling—_ much the same. If nothing else, the Moon has one killer grip. 

Eugene waves his hand pointedly in Cassandra’s face, eyes fixed on her, and does not look up. He does not look behind her, behind them.

He will not look back at the mountain. He will not look back. 

Eugene won’t look. He can do this, he can keep his eyes forward and his breaths even, he can keep going, following silently in Adira’s footsteps as she guides them across the landscape, the dark mountain looming at their backs. Eugene won’t look back at that mountain. He won’t think about Rapunzel, or the Moon, or how he has left them all behind.

He _won’t._

(He can’t.)

Cassandra’s gloves are ice-cold against his skin when she finally takes his hand and resigns herself to his help; her grip is strong enough to bruise. He squeezes her fingers and pulls her up over the ledge, careful to avoid tugging too hard on her arm. 

“Ooh, chilly hands even through the gloves,” he tells her, and lilts his voice to something high and teasing. “I always knew you were cold-blooded, Cass-an-dra.” 

Cassandra raises both eyebrows at him, something sly and fond in the slant of her mouth, reluctant amusement. “You’ve used that one before. Finally run low on creativity, Fitzherbert?” 

“Huh? No, I haven’t.”

She doesn’t laugh at him outright—it’s not her way—but her expression is all smug. Her near ever-present exhaustion and strain from the past week fades under her wry smile. “Yes, you have.”

Even this little bit of talking makes his throat ache, but damn the Moon anyway. If even the threat of hanging couldn’t stop Eugene from joking, her forceful interrogation sure won’t. Eugene grins back. “What, really? Ah, yikes. Well then, I’ll find a new and original Fitzherbert-certified insult for you soon.” 

“Woo,” Cassandra says, dry as a desert. “I can’t wait.” She brushes past him, checking his shoulder in clear challenge, the ghost of a grin curling at the corners of her lips. Eugene’s own smile grows brighter with the familiar exchange. He turns to follow her, a laughing retort rising to his tongue, and then the mountain catches in the corner of his eye. 

Just like that: his good mood gone, his laughter spoiled. The words wither behind his teeth. The person that should have been there, Rapunzel’s soft and lilting voice, the roll of her eyes at their bickering—the loss digs into him, the empty space seizing at his heart.

Eugene rubs at his throat and closes his eyes, looking away from the mountain. His fingers press hard against still-forming bruises. It’s too late to ignore it, now. 

“Damn,” he whispers, under his breath. Cassandra has walked on ahead—she hasn’t noticed his silence yet. She’s still smiling. He doesn’t want to ruin it, but his own chest feels tight, eyes hot. “Damn it.”

“Don’t stop, Fitzherbert.”

Adira stands at the forefront, far ahead, already starting over the next hill-rise. Her eyes rest unwavering on the skyline, her expression cool, her body language controlled and focused. She doesn’t look at Eugene, but he can hear the faint undertone of judgement in her voice, knowing and disapproving. “We have to keep going.” 

In the distance, Eugene can see Maximus and Fidela and all the other animals standing on a high rise, waiting to see if anyone returns. Pinpricks in the horizon. Eugene closes his eyes again and swallows hard, feeling a painful tug at the bruises on his throat. 

“I know that,” he says, and the words scrape through his teeth. “Sorry. Just got a little lost in thought, that’s all.”

Cassandra glances back at him, her small smile fading into a frown. Eugene ignores the sinking in his gut and tries for a smile. Her frown deepens.

“It’s all good,” Eugene says, more to Cassandra than Adira. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” 

He catches up quick, and Adira nods and continues on, long strides and a confident walk. Cassandra doesn’t move. She lets Eugene pass her, and he can feel her watching him, her eyes fixed on his face.

He stops, a momentary pause, a quick glance back. His smile is lopsided and forced, but softer now—more genuine.

“I’m _fine,_ Cass.”

Cassandra stares at him, expressionless and unwavering. Eugene waits.

At last, she nods, short and fast. Eugene sighs under his breath and turns away, following in Adira’s wake, his heels kicking up dust. He can hear Cassandra walking just behind him, in his shadow, supportive and flanking his side as if they’re in a fight. It’s distinctly herding behavior. It makes him want to sigh and laugh all at once. 

They reach the animals on the outskirts of the Dark Kingdom, where the black rocks aren’t as numerous and there’s more chalky cliffs than black rock spires. They are still too close to the mountain for comfort, but any farther would be another day’s ride, and they do not have the energy—or the will, for that matter—to go that far. 

When he sees them coming up the last hill-rise, Maximus tosses his head and brays in triumph. The sound is loud and jolting in the silence, and cuts short soon after, right when Maximus notices they are alone. Battered and bruised and bloodied, and still no Rapunzel or Varian. His nickering turns low and whining, and Fidela paws anxiously at the ground beside him. Ruddiger ducks back into his now-customary saddlebag.

Pascal, worst of all, takes one look at them and curls up small on Maximus’s head, green scales tinged pale yellow with grief. He hadn’t taken being left behind well, when Eugene and Cassandra had gone with Adira to face the Moon; to have nothing to show for it, even after acquiescing to stay behind…

Eugene winces despite himself. He never thought he’d feel bad for a _frog_ of all things—let alone guilty, what a trip this is turning out to be—but here he is. How can something so small and green inspire so much guilt? 

Eugene blows out his cheeks and turns away, ignoring the dumb twisting knots in his gut. It’s wrong. It’s just—all wrong. This should be a triumph, or a step forward, or _something,_ but instead… 

Pascal should be sitting up Rapunzel’s shoulder, just like always; Maximus should be strutting about and being annoyingly smug; Cassandra should be grinning and Adira shouldn’t even be here at all. Even Ruddiger, for all that Eugene has little interaction with the tiny rodent, should at least be with Varian. The kid had been mouthy and mean, but there had been moments where even Eugene thought that maybe Varian wasn’t as changed as they thought. Moments that usually occurred because of Ruddiger. 

But now Varian is gone, just like Rapunzel, and that raccoon has been hiding in the saddle bag for over a week. 

It’s _wrong_ , and Eugene can’t even blame the Moon for half of it. Something’s gone amiss. Something has simply… shifted out of place, the path gone awry, somewhere along the way when they weren’t paying attention. Maybe in the ruins, maybe during that fireside conversation; maybe in those three long days stuck in a cave as the storm rolled over them. Maybe even from the beginning—Rapunzel’s desperate gamble and that chat in the dungeons she thought Eugene didn’t know about, a month and three weeks ago, long before they ever entered this dead land.

Eugene clenches his fists and breathes deep through his nose. _It’s not fair,_ he thinks, which is an entirely childish thought and useless besides. He hasn’t felt this broody in ages; it’s like he’s a _teenager_ again, god. But still. It’s not _fair._ It shouldn’t have been like this.

_Where did we go wrong?_

Damn destiny, anyway. He wishes their story had ended after the tower. Happily ever after, just like in the fables. Didn’t Rapunzel at least deserve that much? Didn’t they all?

Hell, he’s _sulking_ now. Eugene hasn’t felt this trapped in years; as a thief he did his best to always leave an escape route. He doesn’t like this feeling at all, not in the slightest. It’s more than irritation, more than anger: he’s restless. Standing here, waiting for a sign… it doesn’t sit well. 

He is tightening the straps on Maximus’s saddle, these thoughts swirling in his head as he works. His own anxiety manifests as twitchy fingers and rocking feet, the urge to pace deep grooves into the dirt. Maximus is similar--his head bobs and weaves, ears flicking to and fro, ever alert. It makes Eugene feel tired just watching him, and he places his hand against Maximus’s neck, patting gently in the hopes of soothing him. 

As Eugene checks on the next saddle strap, making sure their packs are still secure, Cassandra falls back to stand beside him. Her arms are held straight by her side, her fingers flexing like she’s missing her sword. The scabbard by her side is empty. The absence must be driving her crazy; he knows her well enough by now to recognize the habit as less a threat and more a comfort.

“Eugene.” Cassandra’s voice is low, urgent. Almost a greeting, but there’s a question there too, silent and unspoken. She doesn’t say anything else.

Eugene just sighs, and pulls hard at the strap in a fit of sudden temper. “I _know_ ,” he snaps, irritated by her attention. First Adira, and now her—he’s a goddamn adult, damn it all, he doesn’t need a watcher. But even as he says it, his ire fades. This is Cassandra, a friend despite all the banter and rocky starts. She understands in a way that Adira cannot— she’s leaving Rapunzel behind too.

“I know,” Eugene repeats, a little quieter, still forceful. He fiddles with the pack, but the straps are tight and secure, his task already complete. He lets his head fall into his hands and groans through his fingers. “I know. I just…” He trails off, hands dropping limp to his side, frowning at the dirt.

Cassandra considers him. Her shoulders lift in a helpless shrug; her eyes turn away. “I get it,” she says, simply. “This whole thing… whole situation…” She sighs through her teeth, almost a hiss. “It _sucks.”_

Eugene laughs, despite the way it tugs at his throat, and lifts one hand to hide his eyes. “Oh, man. That’s one way to describe it.” He can think of a few choice words himself, honestly. “I just… hah. I’m just angry. I can’t understand it. You know?” The words scrape raw in his throat. “How the hell did it come to this?”

Cassandra mulls on this. Her breath rattles, her eyes going distant. She rubs absently at her forearm, under the glove, soft pressure on bruised and irritated flesh. He can see the faint imprint of the Moon’s hand on her skin.

“I don’t know,” she says, at last. Bizarrely sincere, and unusually sad, and it’s enough to make him flinch, regret and helpless anger swelling in his chest.

“I thought it’d be different,” Eugene admits. He shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks his foot through the dirt, watching the dust fly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I thought…” He trials off and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

It doesn’t feel like it’s over, is the thing. And yet, at the same time—he feels as if there is nothing more they can do. That fight with Moon has dragged them both away from grief, given them a task and a chance, and now that it’s done there is nothing left. The grief is still distant—but so is hope.

They are waiting, silent and forced to stand still. Lingering on the fringes of this part of Rapunzel’s story, shoved aside without second thought. Eugene has never had illusions of his own importance (acting as King doesn’t count, thanks), but at the very least—

He’d fancied himself a part of Rapunzel’s world, the same way she became the whole of his, and it aches to learn otherwise. To know that destiny, and magic, and the world… there is a plan in place, a path already set, and Eugene is not a part of it.

The silence settles around them, and Eugene closes his eyes again, breathing in deep through his nose. He aches to look behind him. He aches to look back at the mountain, to stop running, to turn back and try again. To do _anything._

“Rapunzel will come back,” Cassandra says, finally. Her voice has gone very quiet, almost fragile—and Eugene winces even as he turns to look at her, afraid of what he’ll see. But for all that her voice is careful, Cassandra herself is steady, stance strong and eyes calm, certain and sure. “Varian, too. Whatever the Moon has planned, they’re both… stubborn.” A pause, and then, forceful and final: “They’ll be okay.”

Eugene manages a smile, brief and bright just at the thought. “Stubborn. Hah! Oh, man, that’s one word for it. They’ve probably already insulted the Moon to her face. Twice, even. What do you think? ‘Old lady,’ maybe, for Varian. Moral lecture from Rapunzel?”

Cassandra snorts, then looks surprised at her own laughter. She lifts one hand and presses her fingers at her temple like the very idea is giving her a headache. “God, no, that’s not what I meant.”

He grins at her, relieved at this return to routine. Laughter is always preferable to… well, anything else. “Hey, I mean, they would! They’re pretty alike, in that. Or—predictable?”

Cassandra pulls a real grimace at this, turning away from him. It’s not enough to hide her expression. Her smile has gone abruptly tight at the edges. “I’d disagree. They’re really not.”

But Eugene is on a roll. “Nah, they kind of are, actually? Maybe that’s why things turned out this way. Blondie rarely changes her mind once she’s decided. Varian’s like that too.” He shrugs, lifting his hands to the air as if to say, _who knows?_

Cassandra isn’t smiling at all now, though, and the sight makes Eugene sigh. His voice gentles. “Varian just… got stubborn about the wrong things, I guess. But you’re right. Maybe… maybe that will help.” He goes quiet again. “I don’t know.”

“…Eugene.” 

He looks up at the sky, pitch-dark and clustered with clouds. Just before dawn, and so dark he can’t even see the horizon. After hours of distraction, Eugene finally gives in, and turns back to look at that looming mountain. The solid stone spires, the gruesome crystal rising up like a distorted crown. An ugly smear on a dead and distant horizon, a shadow to block out even the sun. In this early morning, the darkness is so complete he can’t even see the stars, the clouds heavy and thick like smog.

It is always darkest before dawn, Eugene knows. But he thinks—and he might be a bit biased, but then, who could blame him—this kingdom has a special sort of darkness to it. It lingers on long after the light should have returned.

“I thought it’d be different,” Eugene confesses, so quiet he can hardly hear himself speak. For once there is no laughter in his voice, not even a hint of it; no remnants of his usual swagger. Even his anger has cooled, gone dull and dusted. Even his grief. Now he just feels tired. “I thought, whatever happened here… I’d be there to face it with her. _We’d_ be there. Together. I didn’t… I didn’t want her to do this alone.”

Cassandra’s eyes drop to the ground. “I know.”

“Yeah.”

“We did what we could.”

“Hah! Guess we did.” He rubs at his throat. “Still doesn’t feel like enough.”

“…No,” Cassandra admits. “But we bought time. We distracted the Moon, if only for a little while. So maybe—”

Without warning, Cassandra breaks off mid-word, choking on air. All the color drains from her face, and she stares out blankly at nothing, breathing stuttering on a sharp inhale. Eugene blinks and leans in closer, waving his hand in front of her wide eyes.

“Cass? Hey, Cass, why’d you—”

It hits him suddenly, unexpectedly: vertigo so strong he almost crumples. Eugene freezes in place, his blood running cold in his veins; every hair on the back of his neck stands straight up.

“What—”

The world shatters.

The ground trembles and shakes, the earth upheaving under his feet. Rock buckles and groans, their lanterns swinging hard, the flames going out, flying right off the hooks and shattering against the ground. Light flashes like a flare before his eyes—far off, from the distance, so sudden and sharp that it breaks through the darkness like a knife.

Eugene stumbles and falls, nearly braining himself on a rock, remaining on his feet only because of Cassandra’s bruising grip on his arm. She drags him up and forwards, back to Adira and the horses, but the earth tremors under their feet and sends them both lurching.

“What—what the _hell—_ ” 

“Get down!” Adira shouts. She grabs at Eugene’s collar and bodily drags both him and Cassandra away from the solid rock cliff-face. The horses nearly trample them in their race to join them away from the unstable shelter. “Cover your heads!”

Eugene grabs white-knuckled at Maximus’s reins, Cassandra right beside him. His voice reaches previously uncharted ranges of shrill panic. “Hey, hey, what’s happening!?”

“An earthquake!?” Cassandra asks, and another tremor forces them all onto their knees. The earth is splitting in two. The ground ruptures into fissures, groaning and creaking like the broken bow of a ship, straining under some unseen pressure. The air shrieks in agony, wind twisted in tortured contusions. The clouds above roil and churn like a storm, attacked by an unknown foe.

“Can’t be,” Adira snaps, staring up at the sky. She looks, for once, painfully stunned. The sight sends shivers down Eugene’s spine. Anything that could get _Adira_ to lose her composure... “The Dark Kingdom doesn’t _get_ earthquakes, it’s a tornado country!”

The ground quakes again, so hard that dust flies up in large puffs of dark smoke and pebbles bounce like bugs in a frying pan, the air hissing like a stove. Eugene grabs Cassandra’s arm and yanks her away from a growing fissure in the ground. “Sure feels like an earthquake to me!”

For once, Adira does not look at all confident. Her strange poise has cracked along the edges as thoroughly as the earthquake has broken up the ground. The skin around her mouth is tight, eyes white all-around, her expression pinched and pale. “But this—this is—”

She stops mid-word. Her mouth opens, a sharp breath sucked through her teeth. She stares, stunned, and says nothing more.

Eugene follows her gaze, and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“Oh, _hell_ ,” Cassandra whispers.

The mountain is glowing.

Light ripples across the millions of black rocks, a dizzying echo effect. It burns gold and then white-blue and then gold again, an unending gradient that would be a battle if not for how effortlessly the colors bleed into one another. It sputters and starts like a beacon, flashing like a signal trying to start, fading and then brightening to some unheard rhythm. At first it starts near the summit—gold coiling around what little Eugene can see of the Moon’s tower—but even as Eugene watches, the light expands. 

It consumes the mountain, sinks deep into the earth like the roots of a tree, the incandescent light carving bleeding rivers into the dusty ground. The black rocks glow intense as a star— _all_ the black rocks, the mountain and all the others, the needle-like forest and the stray few near Eugene’s head, every stone that Eugene can see for miles around shining as white-hot and as bright as they did the day Rapunzel reached out and seized hold of their power back in Old Corona. The rocks twist and turn in their rocky beds, their heavy slants dragging up to a straight vertical, a whole valley of pitch-dark needles piercing the sky.

Eugene’s mind falters and restarts. He grabs Cassandra’s arm and pulls her to her feet. Damn the earthquake, damn proper procedure—if they don’t find cover soon, they’ll be screwed. “We have to run!”

Cassandra stumbles, her eyes wide. “ _Where?_ ”

“I—”

“Here!” Adira cries, and her hand bunches in Eugene’s coat before bodily throwing both him and Cassandra back towards the cliff-face. “Under the ledge! Quickly!” 

Eugene slams against the soft stone. The whole world is shaking. He can’t focus. He thinks he can see Maximus—even Fidela—and Cassandra’s grip is painful on his wrist. “The rocks— _shit,_ the rocks, it’s not enough—”

“There’s no time,” Adira snarls back. “We’ve got to—”

She never gets the chance to finish. Far off in the distance, miles and hours away, the light in the tower brightens to a painful intensity. The gold is washed away by a sudden and unyielding wave of moon-bright white, a shine so severe it blinds his eyes. It ripples down the mountain and into the stone. It breaks apart the earth and the sky. It scatters the clouds into vapor.

The world burns white, and then burns away, and Eugene sees nothing else.

-

Rapunzel opens her eyes to a dream.

She stands tall and still, frozen in place by her own confusion, her breath fogging in the air. Her right hand is outstretched, fingers curled closed as if to grasp something out of reach, and her palm tingles with a strange warmth—not painful, not quite, but prickly; uncomfortable.

She turns her hand over slowly, as if in a trance, and stares down at her fingers. Her hands are not bandaged, here. Instead of open wounds, her veins are burning gold, a color so rich and warm it looks like molten metal is tracing across her skin and up her arm.

Her next breath shudders out halfway to a cry. Rapunzel recoils, flinging out her hand as if that will get the light to fade. Something cold ripples at her legs, resistance pulling against her every action. Rapunzel freezes at the sensation, heart catching in her chest, shock and fear mingling in the back of her throat. She looks down. 

Water pools at her knees, still and dark, the edges of her torn skirt drifting in the black waters. She can’t see her legs, or her feet—the water is so still and perfect it is practically a mirror, and all she can see is herself: wide-eyed and pale in the face, blood streaking down her cheek.

All at once, memory rushes over her. The Moon. Varian. The bridge, and the Moondrop, and that final choice. Reaching out to take the Opal, taking Varian’s hand for the second time.

White light, burning and bright, scorching the world away.

Rapunzel sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of her reflection, her head snapping up. She whirls around, taking in this new place. She isn’t in the labyrinth anymore. She isn’t in that dark tower; she isn’t even in that wasteland kingdom. She is somewhere else, someplace beyond reality.

Above her head, a spiraling galaxy etches across a royal blue sky. Light dances at the edges of a far horizon, soft and blue with the promise of a brighter day. Planets spiral so close they are like a second moon, hanging solid and heavy in the shining sky. Dark water stretches on into the distance, everywhere she looks, an eternal sea—still and silent and undisturbed, a shining mirror-like floor. If she looks too long in the mirror she can see clouds and the shine of distant seas, houses and roads and city lights—the whole world, _her_ world, seen as if from far, far above.

There is no land, no earth—but neither is this dark ocean empty. In the still waters of this other place, rocks sprout up like spiny flowers from the deep. They rise in patches all around her, the black rocks and even half-submerged ruins, worldly palaces and castles broken down to their bare bones, sinking into the sea. She can see far-off staircases spiraling to nowhere, a distant palace hall leading down into the water, a ballroom with its ceiling torn open to expose the stars. 

Rapunzel stares, stunned absolutely speechless. Her breathing rattles in her chest.  The air is soft, cold but not painful, almost sweet in her lungs. The dark waters lap at the base of her knee, and the sensation is odd but also comforting, peaceful and consistent. In the distance she can hear a low rumbling, a distant collapse—one of the ruins sinking deeper into the water, crumbling away. It is quiet, calm, peaceful—and with every second, her panic rises, tears pressing against her eyes.

She doesn’t know this place. She knows nothing like this place. She is in a world that is utterly unfamiliar, alone and confused and _lost,_ so far away from what she knows and loves that it makes her shake. This beautiful, peaceful place—it is almost worse than the labyrinth.

Her breaths wheeze, rapid and thin. Her hands rise to her face—unbandaged, uninjured, unnaturally so, and _why,_ why is this happening? Where is she? She thought, after the Opal—she thought it was over. Why isn’t it over? She wants to go home. _She wants to go home._ Why can’t they just let her go home?

Rapunzel curls her fingers in her hair and _yanks,_ biting back a furious scream. She’s alone. She’s _alone._ Her sight is blurring with tears and her hands don’t hurt, and this isn’t right, none of this is right— 

“—Rapunzel?”

The voice is distant, soft, faint with terror. It is also familiar.

“Varian?” Rapunzel whispers to herself, disbelieving. The relief that hits her then is so sudden she almost collapses, tears pricking behind her eyes. “Varian! Varian, is that you?”

“Rapunzel!?” He sounds stunned, shocked; she wonders if she is imagining the desperate note of relief in his voice. “Rapunzel, where are you?”

“I’m here!” Rapunzel cries, slogging through the water. The dark sea ripples at her knees, resistance pulling hard at her legs. She moves through the waters slowly, fighting for every step. In the distance, she can see the shadow of someone else against that pale blue horizon. “I can see you! I’m over here!”

He’s standing in the shadow of a broken castle, hidden under the slope of a crumbling hallway, and he startles when he finally sees her. They meet each other halfway, wading through the deep waters; for Varian, the sea rises up to his hips, and he nearly trips into her. She catches his arm and pulls him to his feet, and then drags him into a hug. 

He yelps and pulls away, looking startled, and Rapunzel releases him immediately, a little contrite, quietly afraid. He doesn’t snap at her, though—just flushes red and winces like he’s uncertain of how to react, leaning away. In the pale light of this midnight world, his face is cast in deep shadows, the blue of his eyes unnaturally bright. His face is pale and washed-out, near colorless; his expression makes him look drawn and haunted, his fear plain to see.

“You’re here,” Varian says, as if to confirm, and when Rapunzel nods, he winces. “Okay. Okay. You’re here. We’re both… here.” His voice is rising, stuttering and quick, and his eyes dart around restlessly. The whole world seems to unsettle him, his expression only growing more trapped. “What—do you know where we are? What is this place? What _happened_?”

**_This is another realm._ **

Rapunzel snaps her mouth shut. That—that wasn’t her voice.

Next to her, Varian has gone very, very still. He is frozen, blank and cold, staring out past her shoulder with wide eyes, fury sparking in his face. His teeth are starting to grit. 

Rapunzel’s knows this voice, too. She could never mistake it. It is too unique, too distorted, to belong to anyone else.

She looks behind her, and the Moon smiles back with all her teeth.

Unlike the last time Rapunzel saw her, here Moon sits perched on a stray few black rocks, lounging casually on the stone like it’s a throne. Her knees cross, her feet left to dangle over the dark water, the tip of her bare foot casting long ripples into the black sea. She sprawls back against the slanted rocks, elbows resting on her thighs, chin cradled in her palm. Her eyes are like beacons in the low light, expression composed, looking down on them. Her hair drifts serene and slow around her face as if underwater.

No longer does the Moon’s appearance distort—there are no more afterimages, no echoes following her every move. In this place she is thrown into sudden and stark relief: every freckle-like constellation, the sharp sheen of her black skin, each strand of her glowing white hair shining as soft as starlight. She is clothed in muted galaxies and whispering stars, the Milky Way shrugged over her shoulders like a cloak, silver bracers on her slim wrists and bright silver silk braided like a belt at her waist. She looks beautiful, vivid, pristine—real and larger than life in a way she has never been before. If reality makes her appear a ghost, then in this world she is truly a god.

**_This is a world beside your own,_ ** says the Moon, her eyes resting heavy on Rapunzel. The words are flat, lacking in true emotion; she speaks as if she cannot wait to finish. **_A world above and below. This is where magic was born, where it seeps; the realm of all things, the birthplace of eons. It is my world. A world of dreaming and awakening._ **

Her explanation makes sense, in a vague way; in actuality, it makes no sense at all. Just like the Moon herself, really. Rapunzel drags in a thin breath and deliberately steps to the side, her arm outstretched, blocking Varian from the god’s line of sight.

“Moon,” she says, soft volume but firm wording. She keeps her voice steady.

Moon tilts her head. Her expression is unreadable, blank and cool, almost distant. It makes Rapunzel shiver. **_You seem surprised._ **

“I thought you were gone.” Rapunzel doesn’t waver, but her voice shakes, quiet and a little uncertain. “I saw the light… it…” She falters, remembering Moon’s shrill scream. “You _shattered_.”

The Moon’s lip curls, but the expression seems forced. She looks away first and when she speaks her voice is oddly monotone, false haughtiness and false composure. **_I did not_ ** **break,** **_little Sundrop. I fled. There is a difference._ **

Movement in the corner of her eye catches Rapunzel’s attention. Varian is stepping up, mouth opening, looking moments away from demanding answers—and on instinct, Rapunzel’s hand snaps out, blocking his path. He halts mid-step and blinks up at her like she’s grown a second head.

“Don’t,” Rapunzel whispers, trembling head-to-toe. She can understand his anger. She can understand his need for answers, and it must grate on him, to be ignored so thoroughly by the god. But Rapunzel—she doesn’t want Moon to see Varian. She doesn’t want him to draw the god’s ire.

For all of Moon’s threats, she has kept Rapunzel alive. 

Varian has not been so lucky.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Rapunzel says, “please,” and some of her desperation must bleed through, because Varian stares up at her with a vaguely aghast expression, looking lost and confused and suddenly small, and he steps back when she pushes him behind her. “Please, please don’t.”

He falters and then nods, abruptly quiet, all the anger gone from his face. He allows her to hide him, stays in her shadow. When Rapunzel turns back to the Moon, she can feel cold fingers wrap quietly around her wrist. A loose, almost gentle hold, grounding and kind, like something she’d expect from a much younger child. He doesn’t try to step out again.

Rapunzel breathes, and lets him ground her. When she opens her eyes, the Moon is watching her, expression cold and carefully blank.

“The light,” Rapunzel whispers, and her voice breaks on the words. She clears her throat and tries again, pretending their conversation had never been interrupted. “The light. After you—left—it… grew. There was someone else. That—that figure—person?”

**_Do not ask these questions,_ ** the Moon says. **_I will not answer._ **

Rapunzel is undeterred, and all at once, she is also angry. After everything that has happened, everything this woman has put them through—Rapunzel is sick and tired of being kept in the dark. “No. I—I want to know. What was that?”

The Moon grits her teeth. **_It is none of your concern. I owe you nothing, little girl._ **

“They were talking,” Rapunzel continues, relentless, halfway to a plea. She is so close to answers. So close to knowing _why._ And while it may not change a thing, at least then she could know. She _wants_ to know. “I could hear them. Their voice. They said—” She stops. “They said your name.”

_Oh, Moon. You were_ **_wrong._ **

That wavering voice, those ice-cold impressions. Regret and fear and hatred. Defiance burning like bile in the back of Rapunzel’s throat, a storm of emotions that did not belong to her. A shining blade, as bright as sunshine… and the sharp, efficient way that figure had drawn back their hand to strike, that blade swinging down deadly and true.

_Moon. How could you?_

Moon shudders, just briefly, pain flashing across her face so fast that Rapunzel almost thinks she’s imagined it. **_That— it was nothing. It meant nothing._ **

“But—”

**_Stop asking, little Sundrop._ **

Rapunzel grits her teeth. “They _knew_ you! The light—and that person, they were—”

**_I told you to stop!_ ** Moon shouts, shooting upright, her casual pose lost. Her hands clench into tight fists. Her voice breaks half-way through.

The Moon recoils, stunned by her own emotion, her clawed hands rising up to cover her face. Her breath rattles, choked and hitched, breaking on either tears or rage. Her form flickers, a connection lost. For a moment, her unbroken and smiling face is overlaid by a deeper, darker image; something solid and more real than any illusionary appearance the Moon has shown Rapunzel thus far.

The pale glow of this other world casts Moon’s new appearance in a terrible and gruesome glow. In many ways, she appears much the same—her beautiful black skin, her shining hair, her starlight freckles. But now there is something else, too, and the sight of it horrifies her, shakes Rapunzel to the bone. 

The Moon is shattered.

In the Moon’s dark and rock-hard skin, deep cracks carve through her left side, shattered pieces and pitted edges. Deep scars trail like tree roots down her arm and up the left side of her face, scrawling across her collarbones. The worst of the scarring clusters close by her heart, heavy and brutal, jagged edges of broken black rock like cracked crystal. Beneath the Moon’s splayed fingers, one shining eye wavers and splits as if cracked in two.

It is one of the most horrifying and heartbreaking sights Rapunzel has ever seen—because all at once, she knows. She knows that this is what the Moon truly looks like. This is who the Moon truly is.

And Rapunzel can guess, with a terrible certainty, who gave the Moon those scars.

Her tongue feels glued to the roof of her mouth. Her heart drops to her feet. She feels gutted, silenced, slapped. Of all the ways she feared Moon would respond— _anger, insults, manipulation, just like Gothel—_ this, this lapse in composure and break in the smile, was not one of them.

The silence stretches. In the distance, another ruin crumbles into the dark sea, faint rumbling and ripples in the water, pulling at Rapunzel’s dress. As Rapunzel watches, the Moon closes her mismatched eyes and breathes in deeply, shaking like a leaf. With her exhale, the scars fade, the deep fissures in her skin resealing—the illusion set in place once again.

The Moon drops her hands away from her face, smoothing back her hair, every motion casual as if her lapse never happened. But her smile has gone cold, more a grimace, edged with a quiet pain. There is a brightness to her eyes that, if this woman had been anyone else, Rapunzel would have said they were tears.

**_It happened long ago,_ ** the Moon says, at last. Her voice is soft, distant and weak with an unseen strain. Flat and resigned. She knows what they have seen, but she does not address it. She just closes her eyes again, her breath shuddering. **_A memory._ **

“A memory,” Rapunzel repeats, whispering and thin. She feels numb, remembering the tower with a sick twist to her insides. The figure in the light ( _the Sun_ , some part of her whispers, _the Sun, the Sun, the Sun_ )—they had wielded a sword, in the end. Hand pulled back, blade shining… and for Rapunzel, that blow never hit. 

And yet. If that was the memory, then perhaps, in reality—

She doesn’t want to think about it.

“A memory of what?” Rapunzel asks, and her voice is softer than she’s ever heard it.

Moon opens her eyes, slow and thoughtful. Her hands fist in the silken fabric of her dress, twisting galaxies into tangled knots. **_What else? Beginnings. Endings. The day you and your counterpart fell. Sun’s tear… my blood. A Sundrop and a Moondrop. A dual creation._ ** She shudders, raising her hands, curling her arms close as if to comfort herself.  **_I… I should not have forced your hand, back in the tower. Not so close to the Moondrop. I did not think… the resonance—_ **

Abruptly, her expression goes cold. Her voice hardens.  **_No. I didn’t think._ **

A smile crawls across Moon’s face. It’s terrible, sickly, a sickle. It cuts her mouth in a gruesome line and exposes needle-like teeth, but worst of all is the _emptiness_ of it, a horrible lack of joy. It doesn’t reach her eyes. 

**_I got exactly what I deserved._ **

Rapunzel stares up at her. She doesn’t move. She has no idea what to make of Moon, these strange and mercurial emotions. Each time she has met Moon, the woman has been something new. Smiling and cruel. Angry and vengeful. Sly and cold. Desperate and ruthless. And now, this— quiet and bitter, as if all her masks have been torn away, leaving her with nothing but the ashes of every other emotion. 

**_Hah. Yes. I got exactly what I deserved. I should have killed your little friends from the moment they entered my land; instead I let them live and let them distract me. I should have never have played two games at once. I should not have answered your call. So little time, and I lost hold of it—so of course this what I am left with. Absolutely nothing at all._ ** She laughs, short and sweet. **_What beautiful irony._ **

Rapunzel doesn’t understand, but something tells her that if she asks, nothing Moon says will count as an answer. The god seems lost in her own mind, wrapped up in her own bitterness. Her smile is not a threat, but somehow it is the most terrifying expression she has worn yet. Possibly because it is the most human thing Rapunzel has seen from her.

Rapunzel doesn’t like the Moon. She might even hate her, after everything that has happened—there is so much of Moon that reminds her of Gothel. She hates it. She hates _her._ And yet… 

She can’t help but pity her, just a bit. She cannot help but empathize.

Rapunzel takes a careful step closer, keeping Varian close but still half-hidden behind her. She doesn’t want him to catch Moon’s attention—especially not now, with the god like this. She chews on her inner cheek, considering.

“Please tell me,” Rapunzel says, quiet and careful and so, so gentle. She isn’t fighting. She will not let any of her anger show. The Moon has been compromising thus far, but Rapunzel refuses to test her patience. Not with Varian here. Not now, after everything, so close to an ending. “What happened? The Opal—this place—me.” Her voice stutters, despite herself. “You said—you know—the Sundrop. _Me._ What’s… what’s happening to me?”

It’s a safe topic, all things considered—it has nothing to do with Moon at all. But it hurts, to ask these questions. To acknowledge that fear. Rapunzel’s blood shattered the golem’s arm into shards. Her tears had sparked a resonance of memory and light. Her eyes had glowed golden like the sun, and Rapunzel still can’t find enough energy to panic about that—but it still scares her. Her own rapid healing, that power burning through her blood…

The labyrinth has made one thing horribly clear to her. Rapunzel is human, yes. But that is not all she is, and the very thought makes her blood run cold.

At the very least, the question serves to pull the Moon free from her rambling. The god considers her, watching Rapunzel’s face, mulling over an answer. After a long pause, her hand lifts, and one clawed finger points to Varian. Rapunzel steps more firmly in front of him on sheer reflex and a vaguely bitter expression crosses Moon’s face. Her hand drops back to her side.

**_That boy,_ ** she says, short and halting. **_He is alive, is he not?_ **

Rapunzel watches her, wary.

**_Alive and whole—well, mostly. Do you know why? Defiance. He was dead, but you defied his fate. I offered you an ending, and you deemed it ‘not enough.’ You wished for a happy ending, and the world bent to your will._ **

Rapunzel stares. “But—the song—”

**_Silly girl,_ ** Moon says. **_The song is only a surface. In a well of water, the shine you see is but a reflection; the true depth is unknown. You have been skimming the pond your whole life and never known it._ **

She tilts back her head, eyes turning to the horizon, that pale strip of blue. **_What you are is a power with untold potential. The song only worked for your hair. Your tears, your blood,_ ** **you** **_—all you are is power. Power shaped by defiance. A wish for a happy ending and a kinder world, and a willingness to fight for it._ ** Another sickle-sick smile. **_Humans always saw Sun as kind, passive. I have always found that funny. Healing was not her nature; it was merely an option._ **

“What are you saying? That I wanted him alive, and so—I, I _willed him_ back to life?”

Moon sighs, cupping her cheek in one clawed hand. She is still watching the horizon. **_Simple, yes?_ **

Rapunzel stares at her. Moon’s help, her response, her whiplashing emotions—it terrifies her. She doesn’t know how to read her. She doesn’t know the right way to act. Her lips tremble. She feels cold. She doesn’t know what words will turn Moon back into the bad guy.

“Why are you telling me this?” Rapunzel asks, and her voice has gone very small.

Moon startles, blinking down at her—and then she tilts back her head and laughs. The sound is awful, high-pitched and cold and utterly defeated. It makes Rapunzel's skin crawl. **_Why not? You have won, have you not?_ ** She holds out her hands to an invisible audience, her smile slashing her face in two. Her eyes are as bright as diamonds. **_You called my bluff. You saved the dying boy. You reached the end of my labyrinth. And you have even managed to_ ** **defy** **_me. I have nothing left. No other plans. No other ideas. Revenge would be hollow and petty and unbefitting of my station. What else am I to do, little Sundrop?_ **

She doesn’t know how to answer; her mind blanks and her panic spikes. What is the right thing to say? The safe thing? What will get them out alive? An apology, perhaps—but even the idea makes her stomach roil, because Rapunzel is not sorry. She will never be sorry. Not when Moon’s idea of victory would have left Varian dead and Rapunzel in tatters.

Cold fingers abruptly squeeze her wrist. Rapunzel jumps outright at the sensation, water sloshing violently at her legs. She barely has time to take in Varian’s expression before he moves past her, stepping out of her shadow and into Moon’s line of sight.

Horror climbs up Rapunzel’s throat. She snatches at his wrist and goes to pull him back, but Varian shakes her off before she can get a proper grip. He looks at her, only for a second—resolute and determined and with the beginnings of anger in his eyes, an anger that makes her flinch. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t need to.

Rapunzel lets him go, her heart in her throat. 

Varian doesn’t smile, and nor does he thank her. He just nods, short and sure, and then turns to face the Moon, arms crossed and weight leaning back on his heels. She can’t see his face anymore, but she can see his anger in the tense line of his shoulders and the way his fingers curl viciously into his sleeves.

“Sucks to be you then, old lady,” Varian says, and his voice is cold, sharp and snapped. “Stop _pitying_ yourself, it’s not like we care. Can we cut to the chase? What do you want? Why are we here?”

Rapunzel sucks in a sharp inhale, stunned by his daring, too horrified to stop him. Above them, Moon clenches her jaw, her bright eyes flashing in the shadows. Her teeth are a bone-white pale gleam through her snarl.

**_You were more polite back when you were dying, little boy._ **

“Maybe I’m just getting sick of you yanking us around at the drop of a hat,” Varian snaps back. He doesn’t back down, glaring up at the Moon the same way he once looked at Rapunzel, only a week ago. Vicious and cold and disdainful, sneering and sure in his anger. “I thought it was over, before. But now… this is—what, counting the dreams—the twentieth time? And I can’t even remember half of them! Give us a _break!_ ”

Moon scoffs. **_I knew you to be angry—I did not know you were foolish. Come now, boy. Show some respect. I brought you here, after all._ ** A thin and sharp smile, stretching her eyes open wide. There is the promise of violence in the bare of her teeth, hatred in the way her lips curl. **_And I am the only thing that can let you out._ **

Rapunzel forces herself not to react to that, pulling back her shoulders and holding herself still. Varian is not as expressionless. He flinches at the threat, just barely, and then his face shudders and shuts down, expression cool and distant.

Rapunzel watches him from the corner of her eye, feeling odd. She is well-used to Varian’s moods and venom, but this is the first time he has been on her side instead of against her when he is like this. It’s… weird.

She is not sure what to feel. In a way, it is distancing; it is like she has lost him, as if they’ve returned to months ago when he was still undeniably an enemy. And yet, at the same time—it is stark proof of how much things have changed. That anger, that hatred—in this moment, it is not directed at her.

Varian clenches his jaw, his mouth working. “Fine,” he says at last, with a precise politeness that’s almost clipped. It’s the same tone he used on Rapunzel’s father back in his lab, polite and faintly mocking, veiled venom in otherwise civil wording. “May I ask, then, Great Lady? How are we here? What happened to us? We took the Moondrop, and then…?”

He trails off, expectant; Rapunzel reaches over and squeezes his arm. He’s trembling.

Moon contemplates him for a long time, saying nothing. The dark waters splash at her rocky perch, and yet, not a single droplet hits her. Against that starry sky, her face haloed by the icy blue of that distant horizon, she seems utterly immovable. Her eyes are half-lidded and cold.

And yet—even now, there is something different about her. Not so much anger as it is exhaustion. She looks at Varian with an expression that is almost defeat. 

**_Yes, you did,_ ** she agrees, composure returned. **_I brought you here to speak further. To be certain of the Sundrop’s choice. One last conversation before my kingdom burns away for good, now that its purpose is lost._ ** She scoffs, almost to herself. **_Another shift_ ** **.** Her eyes turn to Rapunzel, weighted and cold. **_I thought I would talk to you alone, Sundrop. And yet. You don’t do anything by halves, do you?_ **

Varian stills and steps forward before Rapunzel can answer. “Wait. You only expected Rapunzel? So why am I—?”

**_You should not be here,_ ** the Moon mutters, sounding frustrated. **_No, no. But she took you with her. She did not leave you behind. The Opal—you took it together. You, Sundrop girl—you_ ** **gave** **_it to him. You do not even realize the significance. He was supposed to stay behind. Let his corpse vanish with the labyrinth. And yet. Here you are. Here you both are. How utterly vexing. Nothing is as it should be._ **

“As it should be,” Rapunzel whispers, watching her. “Or… as you wanted it to be?”

The Moon pauses. Her gaze drifts away again. **_I always get my way._ **

“…No one has ever told you no?”

**_No? No!? Hah! I am so sick of that word. No, Moon. Don’t, Moon. Stop, Moon._ ** She reaches up and places one hand over her heart, fingertips brushing a hidden wound. She doesn’t even seem to realize she’s doing it.  **_No, no, no. For once I simply wanted it to be about me. I wanted to be right. I wanted her to know I was right. How could I have been wrong, after all? I’ve seen humanity. I know your kind. How could she still…? And yet. Hah! I could not even convince you, Sundrop girl. So what does that say, then, about me?_ **

Rapunzel licks at her lips, thinking. All of Moon’s little hints, her vague wording, the way she looks at Rapunzel… almost as if seeing something—or some _one_ —else.

“You wanted me to be like her. Like… the Sun. Didn’t you.”

**Like** **_her? Who am I fooling? You have none of her virtues but all of her flaws, and in that way, you are exactly like her. No, I wanted… I wanted you to be better. I wanted you to prove me right._ ** Her eyes go distant. **_But you didn’t._ **

A thoughtful pause, and then her shoulders slump. **_I chose him._ ** One finger turns to Varian. **_Someone you hated. Someone you feared. Someone not worth saving. And yet. You saved him anyway. You took him with you._ ** She turns to Rapunzel. Her eyes are bright. **_Why?_ **

It’s a fair question, all things considered. And yet—it’s the one question Rapunzel cannot answer. She doesn’t know. There’s a reason, of course, but it’s not a reason she can put into words. It is too big, too much, too _complicated_ for that. And Rapunzel—Rapunzel is not interested in teaching basic human decency to a woman who treats those words like a foreign tongue.

“It wouldn’t mean a thing, if I told you the answer. You wouldn’t understand.” Rapunzel meets Moon’s eyes, and shakes her head, biting back a sigh. Her expression is determined, her stare resolute. “Figure it out yourself.”

Moon stares at her. **_That… that is not how this works. I demand—_ **

“I don’t care,” Rapunzel says, with cold finality. “Varian—” She squeezes his wrist, well-aware of how carefully still he is holding himself. She can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn’t dare look away from the Moon. “He’s not what you say he is. He’s _not._ That’s not all he is. And if you think that, then—then you haven’t really been looking at all.”

Moon goes quiet for a long time. **_You would do this?_ ** she asks finally. Her voice is tired, defeated. Her fury, her fickle furor, has died down to a dull resentment. **_This is your choice? You take my gift, and give it away before it has even graced your palm?_ **

For a split second, Rapunzel has no idea what she’s talking about. Then she remembers. The Opal. She isn’t sure what Moon means—why she says ‘giving it away’ when they took it together—but it doesn’t really matter, either way. Rapunzel has her answer.

“I won’t leave him behind,” she says, pulling back her shoulders and lifting her chin. Her stance is set. Her arms are loose by her sides; her hands are curled into fists. She thinks of her mother—of Queen Arianna and the way she holds herself tall, stately and still and unyielding—and draws on the memory, trying her best to mimic her mother’s fierce resolve. “No matter what you say, no matter what you do, I am not leaving _anyone_ behind. If that’s the choice you mean… then yes.” 

Rapunzel holds herself tall and her voice rings out clear and cold over the silent sea. “This is my choice.”

**_Such conviction,_ ** Moon says, at long last. **_Such certainty, even though it is clear to me you have no idea what you are talking about. And yet. There is still truth to your words. You claim to have seen something I have not? Very well. I accept this wager. Perhaps I have not been watching closely enough._ **

Rapunzel stills. “Wait,” she says. The air presses down her. Every breath is like ice in her lungs. “W-wait, what are you—”

But Moon is no longer talking to her. **_One more game,_ ** she muses, to herself.  **_One more chance. Yes. Why not? I will watch. I will see. I will accept the Sundrop’s choice for now. I will discover for myself if I have missed something._ **

Abruptly, her eyes snap down to Varian. Her expression hardens.  **_But know this, little one._ **

She draws back her hand, and suddenly she is gone from the rocks, standing before Varian, her hand high and light gathering in her palm, power searing through her fingertips. Her hands are long and thin—and her nails are curled, sharp as talons, gleaming in the starlight.

“Varian!”

**_If I judge you to have failed, boy…_ **

There is no time. No time to run. No time to even pull him away. Rapunzel reaches out, her heart in her throat, and Varian stares up at Moon with wide eyes.

**_There will be no more second chances._ **

Moon straightens her fingers, knife-like nails gleaming in the light, and punches her clawed hand right through Varian’s chest.

-

Rapunzel opens her eyes to reality.

She’s lying on her back, pressed flat against the ground, and when she curls her fingers dirt catches under her nails. Sensation, muted in that dreaming world, rushes back full force: every ache and every bruise, the throbbing pain in her hands and fingers, her sore soles, the dried blood that tugs and irritates at her skin. 

She takes a breath and chokes on dust.

Rapunzel shoots upright, sitting hunched over her knees, hacking up half a lung. She feels both as if she’s run a mile and also slept for a thousand years—every inch of her aches like an old bruise, her skin tingling with pins and needles. Her head spins, her vision dizzy, her stomach sick.

Rapunzel presses the back of her hand against her forehead, breathing quick and shallow, struggling to clear her vision. The blurriness stays. Where is she? What’s happened? The last thing she can remember—she’d been somewhere else, that strange place with its endless seas, the Moon with her vicious scars… the god has asked her if she was certain of her choice, and then—

_Varian._

Her last memory of the dream. The Moon had vanished, and reappeared in front of Varian, and then she had—

_There will be no more second chances._

Rapunzel’s breath locks in her throat. Even her heart seems to skip a beat. Oh, god. Varian. If the Moon has killed him again, then—then—

She can’t have killed him. Not again. Not after everything.

“Varian!” she cries, struggling to climb to her feet. The world is oddly hazy to her eyes, bright enough to hurt. After so long in the dark, even this pale illumination is enough to make her eyes itch, the world blurry and indistinct. She can’t focus—in truth, she can barely see at all _._  Where _is_ she?

“ _Varian!_ ” 

She stumbles onto her feet and then yelps in surprise and pain when her legs give out, her exhausted body finally betraying her. Rapunzel falls into a one-legged kneel, catching herself on the ground with one foot. She barely notices her own reflex. She fights in vain to focus her blurry vision, to pick out shape and form in this mix of shiny light and shadow. Everything is a mix of pale colors and deep shades, melded so thoroughly she can’t even see her own hand in front of her face. 

Rapunzel doesn’t give up. Varian has to be here. He simply must be. After everything that’s happened—

_There!_

A shadow in the corner of her eye—an odd shape that might be a body. Rapunzel forces herself onto her feet and staggers over, falling hard on her knees beside him. She thinks he might be on his side, half-curled in a fetal position. This close, she can see a little better: he’s still and small on the ground. She can’t tell if he’s breathing, and she can’t see his chest rise.

Rapunzel reaches for his shoulder, feeling cold, her lips numb. She is terrified to touch him. Her fingers shake in the air. She isn’t breathing—her own breath held, already fearing the worst.

Varian starts coughing. 

He shakes, shivers, and then groans faintly, a pained hiss through his teeth. Rapunzel stares, shocked still, watching blankly as his eyes blink open and he rolls over onto his back, clear and unseeing eyes blinking up at nothing. He stares blankly above Rapunzel’s head, and then his eyes drift to her face. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to recognize her. He looks almost bemused.

Then something in his eyes _clicks._ Varian sucks in a sharp inhale, and his eyes go wide. His hand goes to his chest and he lurches upright so suddenly that Rapunzel has to scramble out of the way to avoid knocking his head.

“She _impaled_ me!” Varian shouts. He sounds stunned. Shocked. Near insulted. “With her _hand!_ What the hell!”

Rapunzel stares at him. She can’t think. A moment ago, she thought he might be dead, and now he’s cursing and spluttering, vividly alive. The emotional whiplash is almost too much. Her sight is still distressingly blurry, but from what she can see—Varian’s okay. They’re both okay. Despite everything, they’re still here.

Rapunzel makes a small noise, totally involuntary. She claps a hand over her mouth. She can feel her smile stretch wide and wild across her face. Her shoulders are shaking.

“Are—are you _laughing_ at me!?” Varian says, sounding scandalized. “I—I can’t—no, no, stop laughing!” 

But even as he says it, his voice is starting to shake too. Varian claps a hand over his mouth, but Rapunzel can still see a watery smile starting to stretch out beneath his fingers. His shoulders are shaking. He bows over his knees and a small, high-pitched giggle crawls from his throat. He presses both hands against his face and trembles.

Rapunzel falls back hard, sitting up on her elbows, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth and giggling helplessly. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, no, I’m not—I swear I’m not—” But she can feel the laughter crawling up throat, and her smile is just getting wider. “Oh my god, Varian, are you okay?”

“Shut up, stop it, _it hurts to laugh,_ ” Varian says, and scrunches up smaller. “Oh, my god. How am I okay? I mean. I—I’m not impaled? I don’t—” His head snaps up and he waves his hands wildly about his front, still laughing, soft and disbelieving and almost offended. “God! There’s! No blood! And I don’t hurt! But I swear she—and there was—what the heck _was_ that place?”

He stops mid-rant, breathing heavily, and his head snaps back to her. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. I’m not crazy, right? You saw it too? That place? The sea, and the sky and, and—”

“The Moon,” Rapunzel says, still hiding her face. “Those scars…”

“And then she _stabbed me_ ,” Varian mutters, and his fingers tap restlessly against his knee. He giggles again, then smacks his hands against his cheeks to calm down. “No, damn it, _focus…_ Okay. Okay. So I wasn’t—that wasn’t a near-death hallucination, nice to know. But I still don’t—that doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. The stone—Moondrop?”

“Opal, I think.”

“Opal, right, whichever—we got it, right? And then—but, I, I don’t—where’s the Opal now? I don’t have it. You’re not holding it. And—and—”

All at once, Varian stops cold. His eyes go impossibly wide, and his next breath is sharp and quick, held behind his teeth. “Rapunzel. Where… where are we?”

Rapunzel blinks. Her eyesight is still a bit fuzzy, but it has been steadily clearing since she found Varian, and abruptly she realizes that she— she doesn’t know. She hasn’t even thought to _look._ She has been too afraid to think, to hope, because she isn’t sure what she’ll do if she finds out she’s wrong.

Rapunzel cups her hands in her lap, staring down at the bloodied bandages. Her hair falls like a heavy curtain in front of her face. She doesn’t want to look. She’s so scared to look. She doesn’t want to be let down again.

Rapunzel closes her eyes and grits her teeth, and tilts back her head to the sky. She has faced down the Moon, the labyrinth, and the golem. She can do this.

Rapunzel opens her eyes, and sees the stars.

Her breath stills. She knows these stars. She knows these constellations. This is not the vivid clutter of that other realm. This is—these are her stars. This is Rapunzel’s sky.

The sky.

Rapunzel can see the _sky._

At this time of morning, the firmament is still the deep black or maybe just very dark blue of nighttime, rich and royal, stars and constellations faint and scrawling across the canvas. The moon is low in the sky and dimming with the coming day. At the edges of the world, pale blue eats at the dark edge of the night. Blue, and beyond that—pinks, oranges, reds. The rose-gold flush of the dawn lighting up the clouds over an empty plain, silhouetting the dark horizon of a distant forest, the trees pinpricks, spiking up in the sunlight like an iron fence. The Moon’s tower—the rocks—the labyrinth is gone. All Rapunzel can see is the sky, and the sun, slowly rising.

Rapunzel can see the whole world, and it’s like escaping her tower all over again. That first morning, after Gothel fell and she left the tower for good—Eugene had stood with her in the blush of early morning, holding her hand as she watched the sunrise over the kingdom of Corona. It had been the first sunrise she’s ever seen from outside her tower. The sight—that golden glow, the shine of the water, the kingdom all aglow and the sky flushing pink from the sunlight—had been one of the most magical things Rapunzel had ever seen.

Now, a year and a half later, Rapunzel stares at the rising sun, and feels that same something bubble up in her chest. Something light and relieved and warm like the sun breaking out over those clouds. Her cheeks feel flushed. Her eyes are hot with tears.

“We’re free,” Rapunzel whispers. Something rises in her chest, her throat, her heart. A feeling that swells up like a balloon. She feels so light she could almost float, and first she starts to cry and then she starts to laugh. She falls out on her back with arms outstretched, and lets the tears roll down her face. “We—we’re free. We’re out. We’re _free._ ”

“Oh,” Varian says, blank and toneless beside her. “I thought—I thought I was seeing things.”

“That’s the sky.” 

“I see that,” Varian replies, mild, and then his shoulders start to shake and he suddenly buries his head in his hands. “Oh. Oh.”

And then he starts to laugh, too.

The laughter comes from deep inside them, stuttering and broken and wild. It tears itself free and leaves them breathless, hunched over on the ground wheezing for breath, tears streaming down their faces.

It’s an ugly, deep-hearted sort of laugh: it’s a victory, it’s a realization, it’s a budding and bone-deep relief. Two children crying out and laughing themselves sick in the soft glow of sunrise, their voices rising out over this deserted plain. They must look frightful, some part of Rapunzel thinks. They must look absolutely crazy.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care in the slightest. They’re out. The labyrinth is gone. She’s _free._ Varian and her—they’re both free.

Why shouldn’t Rapunzel laugh? Why shouldn’t they smile?

They’ve _won._

“We’re out,” Rapunzel says, breathless and shaking. “We got out. It’s over.” She smiles, disbelieving, staring up at the sky with blurry eyes. Her voice shakes. “It’s finally over.”

Varian is still laughing, high and thin. “We won!” 

“We won,” Rapunzel agrees. Her smile is so wide is actually hurts her face. It’s so wonderful to have something to smile about. The joy swells up in her chest, fit to burst. “We _won!”_

Varian practically beams at her. “We got out. It’s gone! The labyrinth is gone! It’s…”

All at once, Varian falls quiet. His mouth hangs open. He draws in a slow breath, and then his eyes go wide and stunned, the joy sliding right off his face.

“It’s…”

Rapunzel’s own smile falls at the look on his face. “Varian? What is it?”

“Rapunzel, the labyrinth…” He turns to her, looking almost as if he’s been slapped. “It’s _gone_.”

Rapunzel opens her mouth. _Of course,_ she almost says. Haven’t they already gathered that? But something in his words makes her pause, and all at once, realization strikes.

The labyrinth… the Moon’s Tower, the black rocks, even the crystal—

It’s all gone.

She cannot believe she missed it. She’d been so focused on the sky she’d missed the obvious. How could she see the horizon? How could they be outside at all? This dark land is all rocks, broken cliff-faces and dead rolling hills and that gruesome dark stone mountain in the center of it all. But Rapunzel can no longer see those things. No rocks, jutting out like a gruesome forest. No fog, hiding the world from view. No sharp crystal… no rocky labyrinth… no tower.

Rapunzel forces herself onto her feet, turning on her heel. She takes in the world with new eyes.

The whole land has been stripped bare.

It is one of the most bizarre things Rapunzel has ever seen. They are standing in the center of what looks like a giant shock wave, the earth is stripped bare in a perfect circle about twenty feet around them in total, clear of everything but the dust. And beyond that—

It looks like the aftermath of an explosion, Rapunzel thinks, because quite frankly she has nothing else to compare it too. It looks like a firework has burst out at their feet, shards of crystal and pieces of black stone cast out flat on the ground in tiny pieces, arrow-head slivers of rock. In the rising sun, the black stone-and-crystal shards glitter like a sea, shining and gleaming in the coming light. It stretches out almost endlessly, shrapnel as far as her eyes can see.

Beyond this debris, there is nothing else. Just the stone hills and cliffs, the far-off stripped wasteland they had traveled over in order to reach this place. And beyond them, the horizon, once hidden by the mountain’s view—trees, flatlands, endless possibility. The mountain had blocked the road, stopped them in their tracks, and now that it is gone she can see out to the sunrise. Distant trees, distant mountains, the whole horizon.

In this place, standing here, Rapunzel feels as if she can see the entire world.

“The labyrinth, it’s… it’s gone.” Rapunzel turns to meet Varian’s eyes, her own stunned surprise reflected on his face. “We… did _we_ do that?”

Varian opens his mouth and then snaps it shut again. He sways lightly on his feet. “I,” he says. “I don’t know? This doesn’t make sense. We—did we blow up the mountain? But— but _how?_ And this, this pattern, that can’t— and if we blew up the tower—we were _in_ that tower!” His voice rises and he gestures, wild. “Like, top floor! We were _really_ high up! How did we get down here? Why are we okay!? I—this doesn’t make any sense!”

Rapunzel considers this, trying desperately to drag her mind back into working order. “Well…”

“…Please don’t say magic, Princess.”

She offers him a wan smile. “Do you have a better idea?”

Varian takes another breath and holds up his hand, one finger to the air. Then he slumps and covers his face with his hands. His voice is muffled, almost a whine. “I _hate_ magic.”

His childish dislike of all things magical almost makes her smile again, but the view has her too upset for that. Her wild laughter from minutes ago has faded entirely with this new shock. Rapunzel shakes her head and hesitantly turns back to the horizon, searching the empty plains.

It’s gone. It’s really gone. Everything she went through here, in this land, in that dark labyrinth, and now… there’s nothing left of it. Only broken pieces and shattered shards. Everything remaining of that old kingdom… gone, now, without a trace.

She inhales slowly, deep and steadying. The air is cold. It tastes cold. It ices over her throat and cools her heart.

“So,” Varian says, after a long pause. His voice has gone suddenly quiet, uncertain. “…What now?”

He is standing too, now. Standing away from her—no longer close to her side. He’s stepped back. He’s stepped away. He is watching her, and there is a look on his face that Rapunzel cannot put a name to. 

Reality crashes down over her head. Suddenly the space between them gapes open. The trust they had been forced to put in one another, the reliance they’d needed to survive the labyrinth—it goes stale, weak under the return of everything else. Who they are and what they’ve done, and the uncertain future sprawling out before them. They are free, and with freedom, reality comes bearing down.

In the distance, the sun peeks out over that faint shadowy tree-line, and the piercing light breaks them apart.

Rapunzel exhales, watching her breath fog. “I… I don’t know.”

The silence stretches. Rapunzel closes her eyes and bows her head, uncertain and feeling abruptly alone. Her throat is tight.

A sudden onset of rattling forcibly draws her back to the moment. Rapunzel turns to look at Varian, her heart sinking in her chest. He won’t meet her eyes. His gaze is fixed stubbornly on the ground, face set as if he’s trying to be emotionless. His hands are held straight and outstretched in front of him. The chains rattle in the breeze.

Rapunzel had almost forgotten about the chains. In the darkness of the labyrinth, the dull iron had blended well with the walls, insubstantial compared to the worry over Varian’s leg and ear and growing weakness.

Now, in the light of the rising dawn, they are suddenly cast into sharp relief. Dark and dull iron encircling skinny wrists, his skin pinched and colored as white as a fish’s belly from lack of sun. The trailing links that connects the handcuffs are broken, and that small remaining length of chain waves with the wind. The manacles, heavy and cinched tight, are utterly intact. Stained by blood and dirt and tears—but whole, like a garish and ugly bracelet.

“Then,” says Varian. “I guess you’re taking me back.”

Rapunzel stares at those chains. She feels hollowed. “Back?”

“To… to Corona, right? We… we found the end of this path. The rocks, and the labyrinth—it’s all gone, right? So it’s done. It’s over. So— you’re going back to Corona. And, after what I did...”

He almost seems to falter, his voice shrinking in on itself. Varian takes a breath and forcibly straightens, but still can’t quite look her in the eyes; his gaze stares off blankly past her ear. “I… I won’t cause any trouble. If that’s what you’re worried about, I mean. I’ll go quietly. I won’t—I’ll stay out of your way. I won’t pick fights. So it’s okay.”

Rapunzel clenches her jaw, pressing her lips in a thin line and looking away, unable to bear the look on his face. She aches to clasp her hands into fists, but her wounds are already aching. Her heart hurts.

She doesn’t answer.

“I, I won’t—I won’t cause any more trouble,” Varian continues. His voice is starting to shake. He’s trying to keep the peace the only way he knows how, and it _burns._ Reality is like a slap to the face. His crimes have never been closer to the forefront of her mind, and instead of laughing, now Rapunzel is fighting not to cry. “You were right, I hurt people, and that’s… so I won’t fight. I, I won’t…”

He trails off, and his chains rattle. He’s shaking. His voice is small and thin and childlike, and hearing him is like a knife to the gut. “Rapunzel? Princess? I—what do you want me to say? I don’t—I don’t know what…” 

Rapunzel tries to imagine it. She imagines taking Varian back to Corona in chains. She imagines putting him back into the cells as if nothing has changed. She imagines facing her father, his anger and his fear and his worry, trying to explain the difference. That the boy who held an arrow to her throat is not the same boy they returned with. She tries to imagine what sort of life he’ll lead—and what kind of life she’ll lead, knowing all the while she’s done what she swore never to do, and locked someone else in a tower.

Rapunzel imagines a future, and feels bile burn sour in her throat.

“Varian,” Rapunzel says, distant and dazed, and sees him still in the corner of her eyes. “I—I just—please give me a moment.”

“Wait, I—”

“I just need a moment,” Rapunzel repeats, and this time Varian is silent.

Rapunzel turns away. She feels distant, disconnected from herself. It is someone else walking away, taking slow steps to the firework burst of stone and debris. It is someone else who kneels by the black stone shards and shifts through the broken pieces. It is someone else, someone else’s bandaged hand and someone else’s heartbeat.

It is Rapunzel who picks up the shard.

It is a heavy fragment—long and thin like a spearhead, and her fingers can wrap around it entirely, even if it hurts to move her hand. The ends are sharp, thin and pointed like a blade. Pitch black and lined with thin crosshairs, and when she takes it in her palm it glows a soft and royal blue.

Black rock, unbreakable, unyielding. It will do. 

She curls her fingers around the shard of black rock and feels a stabbing pain shoot up her hand. She ignores it. The pain draws her back, forces her awake; she is suddenly and sharply aware of herself. The touch of cold wind through her hair, the pull of dried blood at her cheeks, the soft dirt under her bare feet.

Rapunzel climbs back onto her feet, and her heart shakes and then settles. Her choice is instantaneous, and with this choice, her anxiety bleeds away. When she turns back to Varian, it with steady hands and a pale smile. He’s looking at her as if he’s seen a ghost. 

Rapunzel’s mind is whirling, a million thoughts per hour. She’s breathing funny. Some part of her, the part that always sounds a bit like Gothel, is wailing in her head that this is a terrible idea. _Don’t you ever learn, you stupid girl?_ But the rest of her is resolute.

“Varian,” Rapunzel says. To her own ears, her voice is different. She sounds soft, certain—final. “Give me your hand.”

He gapes at her. “I—I don’t—”

“Please,” Rapunzel says. She still sounds so, so calm. Her hands are starting to shake. “Please.”

And something must bleed through her voice, because Varian stops. He rocks back on his heels and goes white in the face, but he doesn’t argue. He just watches her. Uncertain and a little afraid, his eyes flickering from her face to the shard in her hand.

“Okay,” he says, at last. His voice is very quiet. He offers his wrist, and his hands are shaking hard enough to make the chains rattle and clink.

Rapunzel takes his arm, pulling it straight and turning his wrist to the side. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She judges the distance, the angle, where the iron might be weak, and then she raises the shard of black rock above her head.

Varian shakes in her grip. He looks confused and tired, mostly scared. And yet, even so—he doesn’t say a word.

Some small part of her is still against this. The part that remembers how he looked when he held the arrow above her head. His snarl when he threatened to crush both Cassandra and her mother to death.  His words—poisonous, sneering, cold to the core—as he threatened and lied and spat venom in response to kindness. The part of her that whispers, fierce and firm, that no matter what has changed, he still must serve his sentence. No matter his apologies, she cannot trust him to keep his word.

But Rapunzel, for all that she thinks justice is necessary, is also selfish. She has been a girl in a tower far longer than she has been a princess, and it is that part of her that keeps her hands steady.

Even if Rapunzel cannot—should not—trust him, she cannot help but think of the tower. Moon’s tower. Rapunzel had offered Varian another chance. She had asked him to come with her. And Varian—he chose to trust her. He took her hand. He had apologized. It must have scared him half to death, but he’d still done it.

_I trust you._ Just the memory of that moment makes her heart soar. Isn’t it only fair, then, for Rapunzel to at least try to trust him in return?

If she takes him back to Corona, he will be locked away. He will be judged, and sentenced, and imprisoned. Maybe he even deserves it.

But it would be the same as locking him in a tower, and that is the one thing Rapunzel cannot do. The one thing she’ll never be able to do. Not to anyone—but maybe especially not to Varian. Not after everything they’ve been through.

Rapunzel adjusts her grip on the shard, and tears the black rock through Varian’s manacle.

It cuts like a hot knife through butter. Iron shatters in her hold. It breaks with a sharp snap, crumbling into pieces off Varian’s thin wrist. Solid, heavy iron, dark and dense—but even expert crafting has no chance against the unbreakable.  

It feels like an answer. It feels right. It feels like starting over.

Rapunzel grabs Varian’s other hand before he can react, and scours the black stone against that manacle too. It shatters like glass, and falls heavy to the dirt.

Varian recoils the instant the last manacle drops.

He stumbles away from her, snatching back his wrists, his hands held against his chest. His fingers rub hard at the exposed skin of his wrists, now bare, skin pinched pink from irritation. No more marks. No more manacles. No more chains.

“Why did you _do_ that?” Varian says, and his words are accusing but his voice breaks halfway through.

Rapunzel lets the black shard fall free from her fingers, it’s purpose complete. She takes a breath and lifts her head, pulling back her shoulders and standing tall. She doesn’t shake. She doesn’t waver. Her voice is clear and precise and utterly certain.

“I won’t take you back to Corona.”

Varian is frozen in place. She can’t even tell if he’s breathing. “I… you… what?”

“I won’t take you back to Corona,” Rapunzel repeats, calm and clear. Her hands are shaking. She feels strange a mix of giddy and terrified, but above all else she simply feels, deep in her bones, that this right. “My dad, he knows… he knows what happened. He won’t be so lenient a second time. I—I won’t bring you back just to lock you up in that cage. I _won’t._ Not when there’s another option.”

Varian stares at her, looking oddly small. His hands twist in the hem of his shirt. “But there _is_ no other option,” he whispers. “I, I don’t—”

“No. There is.” Rapunzel forces herself to meet his eyes. “Don’t… don’t come back to Corona.”

His breathing stills. Varian doesn’t move. His eyes are wide and white and lost. 

Rapunzel points out to the horizon, to the rising sun. To the east, away from Corona, away from where they’d come. “See those trees? I’ll bet there’s a town, there. More towns. More cities. This is—this is a whole new country. We’re months of travel away from Corona. If you vanished here, in this place…? Varian, you’d be _free.”_

He doesn’t answer. His expression is pale, distressed; painfully uncertain and painfully young. Just the sight of it strikes uncertainty into her heart. Rapunzel’s hand drops back to her side, fingers curling in the loose strands of her hair. “It’s—you don’t have to, though,” she says at last. “If—if you really want to return to Corona, then… then I’ll take you back.” 

“You’re letting me choose?” Varian asks, and his voice is so very small. “You, you’re letting me…?”

“Of course,” Rapunzel says, surprised by the question. She fumbles. “I mean, it’s… I meant what I said. If… if you choose to go, Varian, or return to Corona… then that has to be your choice, doesn’t it?” She swallows hard and looks away, unable to bear the look on his face. Her gut twists. “I… I want it to be your choice.”

Varian is quiet for a long time. His breathing rasps. “You’re letting me go.”

It’s not a question, but she answers anyway. “Yes.”

“ _Why?_ I— we’re not friends, Rapunzel! I tried to kill you barely even a _fortnight_ ago! I was—I treated you horribly up until—I mean, I don’t know how long that was, but—recently! Just recently!” He throws up his hands, heat rising in his cheeks, face flushed and teeth grit in a snarl. “How do you know I’m not going to come back? With an army, this time? Or worse? And, and I could try to hurt you—kill you, _anyone,_ it could all happen again and you’d never know in time, _how_ can you—?”

Rapunzel takes a breath. “Will you?”

“—What?”

“Will you attack Corona? Will you try to hurt anyone?”

“ _No_ !” Varian cries, immediately, and then looks stunned at his own certainty. His breath stutters, fury faltering, but it barely lasts a second before Varian quickly rallies himself. “That’s—that’s not the point. The point is, you can’t _trust_ me! Haven’t—haven’t you learned better by now?”

“You trusted me, back in the Moon’s tower.” 

Varian opens his mouth. No sound comes out.

“You didn’t really have any reason to,” Rapunzel continues, soft and careful. “You said you didn’t trust my promises… and I can understand that. I can understand if you never trust anything I say ever again. But you trusted me anyway. You took my hand.” She smiles at the memory, soft and sideways. Varian looks as if she’s slapped him.

“You’re right,” Rapunzel says. “I don’t know. But…”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rapunzel cannot help but wonder. Are they friends, now? Enemies still? She doesn’t think so. So what are they, then, if neither is correct?

The truth is that she doesn’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. Perhaps this, whatever it is, whatever they are… for now, it is enough.

Rapunzel takes a breath and looks Varian dead in the eye, and this time her smile is for him. Small and wavering, weak with hope.

“I guess that means,” Rapunzel says, “that I’m just going to have to trust you.”

Varian stares at her. All the color has drained from his face. “You shouldn’t,” he says. His voice is very quiet. His voice is shaking. He looks as if he’s about to cry.

“Probably,” Rapunzel admits, just as soft, just as quiet. Her smile is watery but genuine. “But I—I want to. I want to trust you, Varian.”

Varian flinches, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hands rising to hover about his face. His breathing is uneven and rapid, his whole body trembling like a leaf. His hitching breaths are almost a sob. 

It lasts for barely longer than a few seconds—Varian has always been quick to recover. His composure returns. His breathes ease. His shaking ebbs. He opens his eyes slowly and stares out at her, and then his face goes carefully blank.

Varian steps back. Then, he takes another step. When Rapunzel doesn’t react, he backs away entirely, careful and cautious, retreating to the edge of the debris. He watches her the whole time. The wind pulls at his hair. The horizon is bright and burning at his back.

“One last chance?” Varian asks, and his voice is tentative.

Rapunzel manages a smile. Her correction is gentle. “One more chance.” Not a damnation, not something final. It is another try. It is the promise of many more chances to come. The difference is that she has faith in him.

Varian’s eyes are bright, the blue of his eyes as pale and as burning as the sky stretching on behind him. “Is that a promise, Princess?”

She hesitates, catching the barest hint of apprehension on Varian’s own face. A grit to his teeth, a tension in his jaw. The sight makes her soften.

“No,” Rapunzel says. “I remember. Think of it more like…” She hesitates, weighing her options, her mind casting back. The memory of a day, a month and three weeks ago, when Rapunzel had sat down before him in a cell, and offered Varian a deal that would end up changing both their lives. “…a guarantee.”

The barest hint of a smile flickers across Varian’s face, utterly involuntary, and he brings up a hand as if surprised by his own expression. His hand drops, smiling fading, but something brighter has entered his eyes. “Okay,” Varian says. He looks to the horizon, the distance, those far-off trees. “Okay.”

The silence settles around them. Varian watches the horizon. Rapunzel watches him, and waits.

“I’m going.”

He says the words firmly, as if daring her to take it back. Rapunzel simply smiles.

“Okay.”

He glances at her, uncertain, and then his eyes skitter away again. His shoulders hunch. “I—it’s—I don’t. I don’t have anything to go back to. Especially since Dad is—” He stops, shuddering, a brief look of pain breaking across his face. “I. I don’t have a reason to stay. So.”

He stops again, stuttering on the words. He worries at his lower lip and then forces himself to stop, dragging in a long breath. “So,” Varian concludes, and this time his voice is soft. “I’m going.”

He glances back at her, and Rapunzel offers him another smile. “Okay.” She isn’t sure what reaction he expects; in truth she is relieved, and mostly just happy for him. Whatever he finds, it seems to satisfy him—Varian nods, almost to himself, and looks back to the horizon.

Rapunzel hesitates, watching him think. One bandaged hand falls to her side, her fingers brushing briefly against the worn leather of her satchel. She takes a halting step forward. “Varian, before you go—can I…?” 

He watches her, wary, but doesn’t back away. Rapunzel steps close enough to reach out and touch him, and slips the satchel off her shoulder, looping it over her arm. She’d like to hand it to him, but her wounds are starting to ache. She makes due, offering her arm—and the bag—out to him.

“Take this with you?”

His expression shudders, going blank and unreadable. “I don’t need your—”

“It’s not pity,” Rapunzel interrupts, quickly. “It’s not… it’s just, um, I would— I would feel a lot better if you had it. Or just. If you had _something_.”

He hesitates again, but Rapunzel’s words have merit and they both know it. Cassandra and Eugene—if they are okay—will have more than enough supplies. Varian has nothing but a borrowed tunic with torn hems and a pair of drawstring pants. He doesn’t even have shoes. A satchel with empty paint bottles, random rocks, and dried leaves isn’t much, but it will at least give him something to work with.

Varian must be thinking something similar, or close to, because after a long pause he finally reaches out for the satchel, fingers closing cautiously around the strap. “Fine,” he says, halting and awkward. “If you insist.”

She tries for a smile. “I do.”

Varian makes a face at the ground and doesn’t reply. He doesn’t sneer at her, either. His shoulders are hunched. He looks uncomfortable. He looks as if he has no idea how to react, and some part of Rapunzel is relieved to see it. She has no idea how to act around him, either, and somehow—somehow, it makes this easier.

Rapunzel hesitates, then takes one more step forward. “Varian?”

He eyes her. “What?”

Rapunzel studies his face. Then she takes one last step, and throws her arms around Varian in a hug.

It’s awkward, of course. They’re both injured and bloody, and they certainly smell like it, and neither of them is really sure of where they stand with each other. Varian is still and stiff in her hold, and his breath is cold against her shoulder. He doesn’t hug her back.

But just like back then—he doesn’t push her away, and maybe that is enough.

Rapunzel lets him go, stepping back. The anxiety in her gut has eased, a strange peace falling over her. She’s done what she can. She’s done what she feels is right. And things may not be perfect, but even then—this, at least, is an ending Rapunzel can live with.

“Take care, Varian,” she says, and his head lifts, just barely. 

“I will,” he says, awkward and quiet. “You… you too, I guess.” His breath shudders, and his hand curls and clenches around the strap of the satchel. “Um. If… when, when you find the others.” His voice cracks, faltering on the words. “Ruddiger. W-when, when you see him, could you...?”

He trails off, the words withering in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to finish. His eyes are glued to the ground, shoulders up by his ears. His hands are fisted in the hem of his shirt, but she can still see the way his fingers are trembling.

Rapunzel swallows down a useless apology and smiles, instead. It strikes her, sudden and sharp, that this is goodbye. She may never see Varian again. Perhaps none of them will. He will be walking off to that horizon on his own. “I’ll tell him where to find you.”

“If. If he doesn’t want—” 

“He will.”

“But if he doesn’t want to.”

Rapunzel pauses, searching his face. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are tight. But the look on his face is resolute, and it makes some part of her soften. Varian is determined. She can only imagine what it takes, for him to ask this—can hardly imagine life without Pascal, if their positions were reversed. But he still asks, and that is…

There is a bizarre warmth rising up in her chest, and Rapunzel realizes that she is proud of him.

“Then I’ll take care of him,” Rapunzel says. She surveys Varian’s face, and her voice gentles. “But he will, Varian.”

Varian shakes his head, but some tension in his shoulders has eased. “Maybe.”

Rapunzel merely smiles. She remembers vividly the way Ruddiger has acted in the past few weeks, his hurt and despair and quiet mourning. She remembers how Ruddiger did not leave Varian’s side until Varian himself pushed the raccoon away, and she knows that Varian’s fears are baseless. Ruddiger will come back to him. Not because Varian deserves it, but because that’s just the way it is.

He won’t believe her, though, and so Rapunzel stays quiet.

With this, there is nothing more to stay—nothing else left to keep him here. Varian steps away, to the horizon. He braces himself, fingers clenched tight in the strap of the satchel, and then he starts to walk, towards those distant trees. The sun has risen fully now, resting like a heavy crown above the woods. It casts Varian in complete shadow.

He gets seven steps through the debris before he stops.

Rapunzel waits, but Varian doesn’t move. He stands in the glow of sunrise, dark and silhouetted, his breaths rasping and quiet. He straightens very suddenly and turns back to meet Rapunzel’s eyes.

“Rapunzel?”

“…Yes?”

He doesn’t speak right away, and the moment stretches, taut like a wire. Rapunzel searches his face and feels her smile falter, her heart drop. She can’t help but wonder. She can’t help but doubt. This fragile truce, this careful friendship—is this the end of it? Is this where it will break? He has done this before, after all. No matter how far they get, Varian always ends up pushing her away.

Rapunzel feels as if she has stood on this plain before, in a way. She has faced Varian so many times. Inside a castle, outside Old Corona, across a cell, by a fire, on a crossroads, within a labyrinth. And now, here—in this empty and barren land, sunrise and life lingering on the fringes of the horizon, a moment of endings and beginnings.

Rapunzel has made her choice. Now, she waits to see his.

“Thank you,” Varian says, “for—for everything.”

It is the only thing he says. His jaw snaps shut the moment the words are through, teeth clicking. His courage has left him and his eyes have dropped back to the earth. But the words linger on, and the silence is heavy with all the things he hasn’t said. Thank you for everything. For not giving up on me. For not leaving me behind. For staying, even though I didn’t deserve it.  

_Thank you._

She never thought she’d hear those words from him.

Rapunzel gapes at him, struck silent. She rocks back on her heels and hides her mouth behind her hands. The words register bit by bit. She’s cried so much, so often, and once again she can feel the hot press of tears rising up behind her eyes. But this time it isn’t because of grief.

She doesn’t answer. She can’t. She drops her hands and smiles instead, wide and bright and shaking, and maybe that is answer enough.

Varian smiles back. It is a gentle expression, almost regretful, shaky and thin. The sunlight and shadows hide his face, but the tremble in his hands gives him away. It is the most genuine smile she has ever seen him give her.

He doesn’t say anything else. Varian turns away, and this time he doesn’t stop. He walks off towards the sunrise and doesn’t look back, not even once.

Rapunzel watches him until she can’t tell his shadow from the trees, until he so far away she can’t see him at all. He’s gone. It seems so strange, to think that. She may never see him again, and she didn’t even say goodbye. And yet—it doesn’t feel incomplete. It feels right. It feels—it feels like an ending. Like a promise.

The labyrinth is gone. The sky is bright with the light of a new day. Her friends—her home—is waiting for her. She may never meet Varian again, but she hopes his future is bright. She hopes he can find a way to be happy.

Varian has left. He has found his own road, and now it is Rapunzel’s turn. Cassandra and Eugene, Pascal and all the others—she is sure they are still alive, somewhere. There are waiting for her, somewhere out in this distant wasteland. All she has to do is find them.

Rapunzel turns her back to the sun, and starts the long road back to home.

-

The ground shakes for hours.

Safe under a cliff-ledge, Cassandra watches the Dark Kingdom crumble away. After the first earthquake, each tremor had become weaker and fewer, the ruined earth slowly settling. In contrast, that strange light show from the mountain only intensified. Over the course of hours, Cassandra watches the abandoned kingdom glow, bright and beaming and then finally breaking apart.

The mountain is first to go, and the rest of the rocks are quick to follow, unbreakable black stone shattering into pieces. They burst apart in grand explosions, breaking up from the inside out, glowing white-hot and then exploding like fireworks, with great booms that make even Cassandra cover her ears. It makes the whole world look as if it is raining light instead of shrapnel, glowing stone scattering and burning like embers against the dull dirt.

It is terrifying. It is horrifying. It is also one of the most beautiful things Cassandra has ever seen.

Cassandra, Eugene, and Adira must stay under that ledge for ages. They stay huddled under that shaky shelter for cover from the explosions, holding their breath and praying the earthquakes don’t send the ledge crashing down on their heads, waiting for the chaos to ebb. Cassandra kneels there for so long that her legs start to cramp, and eventually even the animals, frightened though they are, start to get restless.

After that first blinding explosion—a shockwave of power that knocked Cassandra flat against the ground and left her seeing spots for nearly hours after—the world has been slowly settling. The ground shifts, creaking and groaning like some old giant settling back down to sleep. Earth crumbles, raining dust on their heads. It’s not a dangerous sort of tremor—less like something waking up and more like something falling asleep—but after seeing what happened to the rocks…

Well. Cassandra’s not going out until she’s _certain_ it’s safe. She’s survived thus far—random attack of killer rock, Moon’s relentless chase, even these damn tremors—and if she wandered out now only to get pegged by a flying bit of shrapnel, it would be so very, very stupid. If the shrapnel didn’t kill her, the embarrassment would. 

So Cassandra stays sitting beneath the ledge, and resigns herself to watching the debris settle. Of them, Adira is closest to the edge—sitting just barely under the safety of their hastily-made cover, staring out over the empty plains. She doesn’t say anything—hadn’t even reacted when Eugene had said, “It’s all _gone!”_ wild and near-hysterical right by her ear—but Cassandra gives her space anyway. Something about the calm in her face… the way she holds herself…

Adira had lived in this place, this Dark Kingdom. Back before it was a wasteland, she had called it home. Cassandra is not the most empathetic person, but she has tact. She leaves Adira to her thoughts, and gives her space. It’s what Cassandra herself would have wanted, if their positions were reversed.

(She imagines Corona desolate and devastated, the soil burned and horizon empty, and swallows back bile. Not even the houses had remained, whatever happened here. Now, not even the rocks.

What must that _feel_ like? To watch that happen? To see a whole kingdom fall apart at the seams? To have called such a place home?

Cassandra hopes she never has to find out.)

As the night stretches on, the light-show finally ebbs, those firework explosions spluttering into silence and then into stillness. A few hours after, the tremors fade as well, the earth settling for the last time as the sunrise comes upon them, a pale glow light at the edges of the world.

It is something to behold, with this new landscape. The sky is clear of clouds and any fog, the storm blown away by the events of the night. Clouds linger on only by the edges of the horizon, and with the rising sun it creates an array of color across the sky. Without the rocks, or the mountain, and after all those tremors…the Dark Kingdom has become an entirely different place altogether. Still dead and dusty, but also fathomless—an endless stretch of land all around, the shards of stone and crystal shining like a sea, color lingering on the fringes. Flat and eternal and distantly beautiful, a sight unlike any other.

With the sunrise and the end of the disaster, life slowly returns to their group. Maximus stands, shaking his head and huffing through his nose; Fidela tosses her mane. Pascal has crawled onto a rock as if to look for his missing friend; even Ruddiger has emerged from the pack he’s spent the past week hiding in, looking thin but cautiously curious. Eugene fusses with his frying pan, looping it through his fingers. Cassandra sits and watches the horizon, aching for a sword to sharpen.

Adira gets up. 

At first, Cassandra doesn’t notice—Adira moves so quietly and so skillfully that it takes her a minute to even realize Adira has left her perch by the edge. She’s gone to the supply bags; as Cassandra watches, Adira takes down her bags and starts dividing food, placing rations in Cassandra’s and Eugene’s own packs, considering each item and sorting them accordingly. Food, medical supplies, a dagger. Practical things.

Cassandra finds her voice. “What are you doing?”

Adira doesn’t look up. “Moving,” she says. Her voice is mild, blankly amused, laughing at a joke they still don’t know the answer to. Whatever moment she had at seeing her kingdom literally crumble into dust is gone now—she’s as enigmatic as ever. “What does it look like?”

Eugene sits up at this. “You’re leaving?”

Adira hums, lacing up the bag straps. “There’s broth, here,” she says instead of answering. “Chicken stock, some herbs, bit of meat—thin, mealy stuff. Nutritious, salty. Cooked it last night when I met all of you. When you find the Sundrop, make sure she eats that. No solid foods for a bit. She’ll get sick if she doesn’t reintroduce food to her body slowly.” She pauses a moment to stretch out her shoulder, looking between Cassandra and Eugene with a raised eyebrow. “Think you two can remember that?”

Cassandra narrows her eyes and climbs onto her feet, waving Eugene down when he moves to join her. His humorous attitude is a blessing, most times; right now Cassandra isn’t really in the mood. This is serious. “Yes,” she says, short and certain. “Why are you leaving?”

“There’s enough broth for three days… that should be enough for a mostly full recovery, at least for her. Starvation—food deprivation—it’s a bit tricky to measure. On that note, I left you some extra food, too, so if you go back the way you came and ration reasonably, it should last you to the end of the kingdom. There’ll be trees again, animals—food will come easily one you’re out of the wasteland.” She stands and brushes off her hands deftly, reaching for her own pack, now visibly depleted. “Left you some of my medical supplies, too.”

Cassandra keeps her voice calm by sheer force of will. “Where are you going.”

Adira tilts her head, looking down at her. There’s a thin smile on her face, almost wry. “Now, now,” she says. “There’s no need to thank me.”

Cassandra frowns, but before she can reply, Eugene jumps to his feet, hands up and placating. “Thank you, Adira,” he says, fast but genuine. He meets Adira’s eyes, no challenge on his face. His smile is rueful. “Really, thank you. For everything.” He hesitates, licking at his lips nervously, and then continues. “Will you be okay?”

Adira snorts, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Please. I’ll be fine.”

Cassandra steps close again, ignoring Eugene’s exasperated look. He can be annoyed all he wants; this is _important._ “Adira,” she repeats. “Where are you going?”

Adira raises an eyebrow at her. Cassandra doesn’t budge. “Thank you,” Cassandra adds belatedly. “For saving us, and helping us fight. But that doesn’t change the fact that you appeared out of literally nowhere, and now you’re leaving? Right of the blue?” She doesn’t glare at her, but it’s a close thing. “You have to admit that’s sketchy.”

Adira shrugs. “I don’t really care what it looks like.” Her voice is mild, unconcerned. Her expression is unreadable. “It’s over, either way. Whatever happened, happened. We’ll find the results soon enough.”

She hefts the bag up higher on her back and gives a considering little hum, heading out from under the ledge into open air. Her eyes close, her breathing deep and slow. She looks a bit like she’s soaking in the sunlight—or maybe like she’s bracing herself. “And while you two wait for a Princess… I have other business, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fair,” Eugene allows, and elbows Cassandra none-too-gently when she goes to speak again. She glares at him, but finally backs off—vague though the answer is, it’s something she can understand. She still doesn’t like this. 

“It’s so wonderful to have your approval,” Adira says, dry. “Or wait. No. I wasn’t really looking for it.” She lifts up her hand and gives a short wave over her shoulder. “Goodbye, then. May we meet again, someday.”

She’s walking away before either Cassandra or Eugene can react to that, and Eugene’s final call of “Take care!” is rushed and uncertain, a little irritated. Adira doesn’t acknowledge them again. As quickly as she had appeared in their lives, she is gone again. It’s all happened so fast that Cassandra feels a bit dizzy, and she watches Adira’s distant silhouette shrink and disappear into the distance with a frown on her face.

When Adira is so far that they can no longer tell her silhouette from the shadowy horizon, Eugene huffs a quiet laugh and rocks back on his heels, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Damn,” he says. 

Cassandra looks up at him. He blinks down at her and offers a thin smile. “It’s nothing,” he says, without her needing to ask. “Just… whoosh! There she went. She really left.” He stares back at the horizon, blinking in the sunrise. “It’s really over, I guess. I can’t see her leaving if it wasn’t.”

Cassandra chews over that thought, rubbing absently at her bruised arm. The sunlight is bright and blinding in her eyes. The Dark Kingdom looks differently in daylight—less scary, and more sorrowful. Empty and abandoned, and quiet in the aftermath.

There is nothing left, out there. Nothing left to face, nothing left to fight. Her adrenaline finally fades away, and it leaves Cassandra aching and tired.

The fighting is over. If Adira is to be believed, _everything_ is over. It’s finally starting to catch up to her.

“Let’s go.”

He blinks at her, vague and uncomprehending. Cassandra climbs to her feet, and beats the dust off her pant legs, ignoring the way her arms ache. She fixes her gloves and raises her chin, meeting Eugene’s eyes head-on. “Let’s go,” she repeats. “Let’s go find her.”

His expression shutters. “Do you think—”

“Eugene,” Cassandra says, and for once, he actually listens to her, his mouth snapping shut. She takes a breath. “We’ll find her. Got it?”

He stares at Cassandra for a long moment, dark eyes flickering over her face, searching her expression for a sign. Cassandra holds herself still under his scrutiny, her own stare never wavering. At long last, a smile breaks out over Eugene’s face. Small, oddly genuine—for once not teasing at all.

“Yeah,” Eugene says. “Yeah. You’re right. Let’s… let’s go.”

It doesn’t take them long to get going: all they have to do is saddle up Maximus and Fidela, and they too emerge from under the shelter, starting out to the horizon, where the mountain once stood. The sun has risen fully now, a golden shine far above them, the whole sky turned the pale blue of early morning. It makes the world seem chillier than it really is—the sunlight is cold and sheer, and without the black rocks, the land looks… almost lonely.

_It’s all gone,_ Eugene had said, when the light finally faded. He had not been exaggerating. There is nothing here. The whole land is stripped bare and flat but for the scattered remnants of the broken rocks and crystals. For all that Adira had spoken of a kingdom… Cassandra cannot imagine anyone living here. There is nothing to mark that kingdom’s existence. No houses, no wells—nothing. Even the mountain and the Moon’s tower are gone, and all that is left is an empty place. The whole country has been wiped away without a single trace, nothing left to suggest people once called this wasteland their home. 

Of course, there is one good thing about this empty landscape. It makes it easier to find Rapunzel.

It’s her silhouette that Cassandra spies first—a moving shadow cast against the late morning sun, only recognizable because of the long winding rope of hair that blows around her, waving in the wind. There is a certain amount of irony in that—because of course, _of course_ they find Rapunzel because of her hair—but it doesn’t matter how. Not really. Because above all else—it’s _her._

It’s Rapunzel.

She is walking with her back to the sun, a dark silhouette, her hair fluttering in the air behind her like a pale banner of victory. Battered and bruised, her shoulders hunched, her clothes torn and muddied. She limps, her walk slow, her shoulders shaking—but it is her. It’s _her._

“ _Rapunzel_!” Cassandra cries, and urges Fidela into a gallop. She knows when Rapunzel has seen them, because that is when Rapunzel starts running, stumbling and tripping and flat-out sprinting towards them, and Cassandra doesn’t even have to see her face to know her best friend is crying.

They reach her within minutes, and Cassandra slides off Fidela’s saddle before the horse has stopped, nearly tripping face-first in her haste. Eugene is right behind her, and Rapunzel is laughing, she can hear her, she’s _right there—_

They practically crash into each other, a three-person collision that almost knocks them all over.

“Rapunzel!”

Cassandra throws her arms around Rapunzel’s shoulders and laughs, and Eugene throws his arms around them both, picking them flat off the ground for a twirl. His whoop of glee echoes loud in her ears. Rapunzel is shaking in her hold, her laughter wavering, halfway to tears, and when Cassandra pulls back—

“Eugene,” Rapunzel says, and oh, god, it’s her. It’s really her. Pale-faced and drawn, circles under her eyes, blood and dirt on her face and looking like she’s been torn to pieces—but smiling, truly _smiling_ , that watery grin that pulls at her eyes, and that’s her voice, that’s her smile, that’s _her._ Rapunzel, back at last. “C-Cass… and Pascal, it’s _you,_ you’re all—you’re all h-here—” 

“Rapunzel,” Eugene says, almost relevantly, and raises a tentative hand to her face. His palm cups her cheek. His breath hitches. Rapunzel leans into his touch and starts to cry.

“I’m _back_ ,” Rapunzel sobs out, and then they’re all crying, gripping at each other’s arms to stay upright, clustered around Rapunzel like she’s a star and they’re in orbit, crying and laughing and drawing in close to make sure she’s real. Rapunzel sinks into their arms, crying so hard it looks like it hurts, but she’s smiling fit for a king and she leans against them gratefully.

“I’m back,” Rapunzel says, over and over like a mantra. “I’m back. I made it back.” She takes a deep rattling breath and tears visibly fill her eyes. “You—Eugene, Cass, you’re _okay.”_

_“_ That’s our line,” Eugene says, voice shaking so much the joke barely takes, but Rapunzel sputters and laughs, shaking so hard it’s a wonder she’s upright at all.

“Oh,” she says. Another tear trails down her cheek, and her smile could outshine the sun. “Oh, I missed you guys _so much._ ”

Cassandra hugs her so tight it hurts. Eugene kisses Rapunzel’s forehead. Pascal leaps up to her shoulder and coils his tail around a lock of string hair as if lock himself in place, never leaving again. Rapunzel trembles, fine and minute, and Cassandra can feel her breaths hitch on muffled sobs. For a moment they say nothing at all, just rock back and forth and keep holding on, as if letting go will shatter Rapunzel completely. Her tears are cold against Cassandra’s shoulder, but when she wraps her arms around Cassandra, her grip is so tight it makes her bones creak.

Cassandra says nothing. She stays there, holding Rapunzel, blinking fast against her own tears. She listens to Rapunzel’s heartbeat and watches the way Eugene strokes her hair, soft and shaking like he’s about to break, too. Rapunzel tucks herself between them and lets herself fall into their arms, letting them fuss, letting them talk. She looks distressingly happy just to have them there.

After a long moment, Cassandra drags in a ragged breath and steps back, holding Rapunzel arm’s length, looking her up and down. Rapunzel wipes at her eyes with the back of one bandaged hand, and gives a watery smile. Her eyes are red and swollen, her cheeks flushed; her smile stretches ear to ear.

“I’m all right,” Rapunzel says. Her eyes are so bright. “I’m all right. I came back.”

Cassandra shakes her head, too overwhelmed to speak. Eugene wraps Rapunzel in another hug and says, “You sure did, Blondie,” and when he pulls back Rapunzel is sniffling, her lip trembling.

“Oh, not _again_ ,” Rapunzel says, and laughs wetly, visibly sniffing and hiding her flushed face behind her hands. “Oh, I’m going to get dehydrated at this rate, I’ve been crying _so much…_ ”

“Touché,” Eugene replies, grinning through his tears. “Come on, Blondie, we’ve been doing pretty much the same, all things considered—”

But Cassandra startles at this comment, standing upright, the words striking her memory. “Oh, my god, Raps—when did you last have water? Have—have you _eaten?”_

Rapunzel pauses, blinking fast. Her eyes go wide. “Um.”

“Holy shit,” Eugene says, at this. “Rapunzel, it’s—it’s been almost _six days_ , are you—?”

“I’ll get the broth,” Cassandra says, immediately, and Rapunzel gives her a puzzled but grateful smile and Eugene guides her to sit down on the ground so her legs can rest— “How long were you walking!?”—and suddenly, just like that, it’s almost like she hasn’t been gone at all.

Cassandra grabs the broth from the bag Adira packed for them, snatching up the medical kit as well—next to a chunk of Gouda cheese, for some reason, what even _is_ Adira—and heads back with both items in hand. There’s another absence, an unspoken lack, that she notes at last but does not mention.

Varian… isn’t here.

Is that a good thing? A bad thing? Cassandra doesn’t like the kid, but—she can’t imagine Rapunzel smiling over his death. But then, where…?

Cassandra forcibly puts it out of her mind before it can spoil her good mood. Rapunzel is alive, she’s _back,_ she’s safe and here with them, and this whole nightmare scenario is finally over. She refuses to dwell on it. Reality and responsibilities and worries—they can wait.

Just once—just _once_ , Cassandra wants to bask in the victory.

She looks back at Eugene and Rapunzel, lingering on the sidelines. They’re sitting on ground, legs folded under them, Eugene with one arm over Rapunzel’s shoulders, Rapunzel leaning into his chest. He’s stroking her hair, rhythmic and soft, and Rapunzel’s eyes are closed. She looks exhausted, as if she could fall asleep right then and there—but then her eyes flutter open, and she reaches for Eugene’s other hand, resting her bandaged fingers in his palm. He kisses her forehead again, soft and quiet, and she leans into the crook of his neck, her shoulders shaking, a small smile playing on her lips.

Cassandra watches them with a shaky smile. She has walked in on Eugene and Rapunzel having a romantic moment many times before, but there is something different about this one. She has seen them gushy, she has seen them flushed, and this is the first time that she can really, truly see they’re in love. It’s something in the way they fit together, the way Eugene’s smile finally looks real, the way Rapunzel reacts to him. They are at last in each other’s arms, and they finally look at peace.

For once, Cassandra is loath to interrupt them, but at second glance, Rapunzel’s wounds are too worrisome to ignore. She walks back to them with soft steps, offering an apologetic grimace when Eugene looks back at her. When she reaches out for Rapunzel’s hands, intent on getting the worst injury out of the way, Rapunzel simply laughs.

“I’m all right, Cass,” she says, quiet and content, with a smile Cassandra has never seen on her before. It’s a strange look on Rapunzel’s face, an alien sort of calm. It’s as if something in her has shifted. The last time Cassandra saw her, Rapunzel had been uncertain and painfully anxious, dreading what was to come. Now she is just… there. Peaceful and resolute. There’s a fire in her eyes, a strength that wasn’t there before, a conviction assured. She smiles less broken and more relieved. The smile of a victor, not a survivor—but still Rapunzel, even so, who smiles that strange smile but still agreeably holds out her hands when Cassandra frowns at her.

Cassandra sighs, shaking those strange thoughts from her head, and gets to work on Rapunzel’s wounds while Eugene helps her with the broth. There are numerous scrapes and cuts on Rapunzel’s arms—her hem torn to above her knees, bare soles looking red and inflamed. Scrapes run down her knees, along with pale and mottled bruising; knowing how easily Rapunzel heals, Cassandra suspects with a sinking heart that only hours ago these bruises were dark and the cuts raw. She bandages the cuts best she can, pads the soles of Rapunzel’s feet to keep her legs from getting even more overworked, cleans the blood from her face despite Rapunzel’s good-natured complaints. The worst, she ends up leaving for last—Rapunzel’s hands.

She hadn’t noticed, at first, but now she cannot look away. Rapunzel’s hands are a mess of blood-stained cloth, makeshift bandages of pale gray linen dyed dark and crumbling from stiff blood. She has to practically peel the strips away from Rapunzel’s skin, and it’s horrible—the way Rapunzel flinches, the way Eugene’s mouth tightens, the ruined hands themselves. 

The wounds beneath aren’t much better than the bandages. They bleed sluggishly, the scabs torn away with the bandaging, Rapunzel’s skin raw and red from constant irritation. Cassandra loses a whole canteen of water and antiseptic on trying to clean the cuts, wiping down Rapunzel’s palms gingerly with a soaked rag. The skin is puffy and inflamed; the cuts themselves are deep and brutal, slicing across her palms and cutting deep into her fingers.

Cassandra holds Rapunzel’s ruined hands gently in hers, and _stares,_ a knot in her throat. She wants to ask. She wants to know. She never wants to find out what did this to her. The mess of emotion leaves her gutted and hollow.

Those bloody fingers curl, just slightly, as if aching to turn over and give a comforting squeeze. Rapunzel leans in, her expression soft and sad. Her hair falls forward with the movement, long strands framing her face. The sunlight filters through her hair and halos her head.

“I caught a sword,” Rapunzel tells Cassandra, her voice oddly hushed. She stares at her wounds with distant eyes, seeing a different time and place. “It only hurts if I move. So it’s okay, Cass.” She goes quiet, almost contemplative, looking down at those deep ruts with a furrowed brow. “I don’t regret it.”

It’s a very cryptic thing to say, but all at once, Cassandra doesn’t want to know. Eugene must pick up on it, because he is quick to react, reaching out and touching Rapunzel’s face, calling her name in a quiet voice, drawing her back into conversation.

Cassandra breathes a quiet sigh of relief and slowly starts to bandage Rapunzel’s hands. A cloth pad, to keep her palms relatively straight; anti-inflammatory cream and secure bandaging, looping over and over to keep her from moving her fingers. The bandaging from earlier, the strips of cloth she’d peeled from Rapunzel’s skin—it had been wrapped similarly, almost eerily so. It’s not something Rapunzel could have done herself, and the cloth for those bandages…

It doesn’t make _sense,_ so Cassandra shakes the budding suspicions from her head and puts it out of her mind. She finishes up Rapunzel’s hands and pulls away, the last task done. Her exhale is soft and shaking.

“That’s it.”

“All done?” Rapunzel asks, and lifts her hands to look, turning them back and forth. The expression on her face is odd, lost in memory. There’s a smile on her face, small and sad. “Thank you, Cass.”

Cassandra folds the medical supplies back into the pack and manages a laugh. “Of course,” she says. “But also, Raps—please stop getting hurt. This is ridiculous.” 

“It’s not like I _asked_ to have a sword swung at me!” Rapunzel cries, but she’s grinning again, giggling despite herself. “Oh, no, that’s not funny, that was _horrible,_ Cass! _”_

_“_ You laughed,” Cassandra points out, a little smug, and Rapunzel laughs outright at this, waving her off, falling back against Eugene’s chest with another bright smile.

“I’m tired,” she says, shaking her head. “ _Everything’s_ funny right now, I can’t help it.”

Cassandra tightens the medical pack straps and slips it back into Maximus’s saddle packs. “You must be exhausted,” she says, humor fading. “Raps, what— what happened to you?”

Rapunzel’s smile flickers and fades into something a little contemplative, a little sad. There’s something haunted in her eyes, and Eugene hugs her quietly, looking as troubled as Cassandra feels at the change.

“That’s…”

Rapunzel trails off, staring off past their heads, biting at her lip. She looks exhausted, drawn and tired in a way that seems utterly unlike her. Pascal, on her shoulder, nuzzles her face in quiet comfort. She reaches one hand up to stroke his spine, her gaze distant.

“…You must have so many questions.”

Eugene and Cassandra exchange a look. Eugene’s expression is pinched with worry, and Cassandra sighs, rubbing self-consciously at her arm.

“Some,” Cassandra admits finally, with a pained smile. She presses her lips into a thin line and gives Rapunzel a firm look. “But they can wait, okay? Don’t… you don’t have to push yourself.”

Rapunzel looks so relieved at this it makes Cassandra’s heart hurt. Her smile returns, thin and weak but genuine. “Oh,” she says. “Yes. _Thank you._ I—I think—there’s no more danger, you don’t have to worry, okay? I’ll tell you—everything I can. I _promise._ But…”

A complicated set of expressions crosses her face, a mixed meeting of emotions, none of which are happy to see each other. “…You’re right, too. I should—there is one thing. This… it can’t wait, I think.” She takes a deep breath, and looks Cassandra dead in the eye. “It’s about Varian.”

Cassandra’s heart drops. Eugene stills.

“Varian,” Cassandra repeats, careful and quiet. They’ve all been ignoring his absence thus far, and saying his name aloud brings all those anxieties rushing back. Her throat feels tight. She can’t tell if she’s angry or worried or just plain scared. Eugene is boring holes into the ground with his stare.

“Yes,” Rapunzel says. She won’t meet Cassandra’s eyes. “That is… Varian has…” She grits her teeth, then exhales slowly, shaking her head. She meets Cassandra’s eyes at last, and her expression is strange, unreadable to her. “He’s left.” 

“Left,” Cassandra repeats, feeling something twist in her gut. “Do you mean…?”

“Not dead,” Rapunzel says, immediately, with a vehemence that makes both Cassandra and Eugene blink at her. She flushes lightly and slowly settles back into Eugene’s arms. “Sorry! Sorry. He’s not dead. He’s okay.” She takes a deep breath. “He’s… well, sort of okay, I guess.”

Cassandra settles next to Rapunzel on the ground, feeling her heart drop for an entirely different reason. Fear of a different kind. The last time Varian was loose… “He escaped, then.”

Rapunzel pauses. She turns to face Cassandra fully, taking in every inch of her. There’s something odd about the look in her eyes—not judging, but wondering. As if she is deciding how much to say.

Cassandra just waits. She knows, despite her misgivings, that Rapunzel will tell her the truth. She’d promised, after all. No more secrets. No more lies. Cassandra can give Rapunzel all the time she needs, so long as she gets the truth in return.

Sure enough— “No,” Rapunzel says, finally, after a long pause. “No. He didn’t escape.” She hesitates, then visibly steels herself. “I… I let him go.”

Cassandra recoils despite herself, sitting up straight and sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. She must have heard wrong. She must have, because there’s no way—

“You… You _let_ him—”

“It’s okay,” Rapunzel says, so gentle it mutes Cassandra mid-word. “It’s okay, Cass.” She tilts up her head, looking to Eugene, then reaches up and lays her hand on his cheek. He’s frowning, uncertain anger in his eyes, but at Rapunzel’s touch he startles. “Eugene—it’s okay. I… I don’t think Varian is our enemy anymore. In that place…” She trails off. “It’s—it’s hard to explain. So much happened, I…” 

She trails off again, expression shuddering. Her hands draw in close like she’s trying to hide, and for a moment her gaze goes distant, looking elsewhere. She doesn’t finish her sentence. It is as if she’s forgotten she was talking at all.

A moment’s pause, and then Eugene pulls Rapunzel into a one-armed hug against his side, rubbing at her shoulder. “It’s fine, Blondie,” he says. “You can tell us when you’re ready. Or—or you don’t have to tell us at all, if you don’t want to. It’s… it’s fine.” 

Rapunzel’s voice is very small, tired and thin. “Don’t you want to know?”

“I—I mean—yes. Sure. Of course, y’know? But Blondie—not if it’s going to hurt you. You’re here. You’re okay. Answers—explanations… I don’t really need those.”

Cassandra shakes her head, fingers pressing her temple. “Wait. Wait, Eugene, just—no. No, I want to know why—”

“Cass,” Eugene starts, shooting her a sharp look, and Cassandra flies up to her feet, waving her hand wildly through the air.

“No!” she snaps. “This is—this is _Varian_ we’re talking about here, if we wait—it’ll be too late then. Raps, you can’t have—don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what he’s done! He tried to _kill_ you!” She can’t even fathom it. “I don’t understand. Why would you _do_ that?”

Eugene is still scowling at her, but Cassandra stays strong. She can’t—she can’t back down on this, not really. Escape is one thing. She knows how to deal with that. But Rapunzel _letting Varian go—_ this, Cassandra cannot accept. After everything Varian has done—after all the things he’s done to Rapunzel, especially—she can’t understand how such a thing happened.

Rapunzel had flinched at her reaction, but by the end of the tirade she just looks tired, small. “I know,” she says, almost as soon as Cassandra finishes. “I _know._ I—it was just…”

She stops again, sighing heavily, her whole body sinking with the sound. Rapunzel reaches out, and takes Cassandra’s hands, guiding her back down to sit in front of her. Her hold is loose and light; the press of her bandaged fingers is gentle and comforting.

“I’m sorry,” Rapunzel says, at last. “I get it. I really do. This is probably… I’m not making much sense right now, I think.” Her smile is wavering and fearful. “But please, Cass. Trust me? I—I’ll explain soon. When I can. But I _swear_ to you. I don’t think… I don’t think we have to worry about Varian. Not anymore.”

Cassandra wants to argue. She wants to demand why. But she looks at Rapunzel’s face, and despite herself can feel her anger drain away, leaving her limp and exhausted. “Okay,” she bites out, and then slumps, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’ll trust you. But Raps—” 

“I’ll explain. I _promise_. Soon.”

Her voice is resolute, and though her touch is gentle, Rapunzel’s eyes are determined. Cassandra softens, and carefully squeezes her hands back, just above the wrist. “…Okay.”

Rapunzel favors her with a gentle smile. “Thank you, Cass.”

Cassandra nods, and doesn’t reply. Rapunzel doesn’t seem to expect one. Instead she turns back to Eugene and nudges him with her elbow. Her smile turns sheepish. “Eugene, can you help me up?”

“Huh?”

“There’s just… one more thing. One more. And then… then, we go.”

“Go?” Eugene parrots, eyebrows raised high and teasing, but all Rapunzel does is smile.

“Home,” Rapunzel says, in reply. The word washes over them, powerful in its own right, sick with longing.

Eugene helps her up without further comment, and Rapunzel limps her way to the saddle bags. Under Cassandra and Eugene’s watchful eyes, Rapunzel pulls free an apple from the rations. Then she turns to the one bag none of them have touched in over a week, ever since that night by the fire.

“Ruddiger,” Rapunzel says, soft and calling, and after a long moment, Ruddiger’s head peeks out from under the flap. He crawls free from the bag slowly, dark eyes intense on Rapunzel. He steps up on Fidela’s back and then jumps to the ground at her feet, sitting back on his heels, eerily silent.

Rapunzel kneels down with Cassandra and Eugene’s help. Cassandra watches her face, bemused at what she finds: sadness, regret, pale hope. Rapunzel holds the apple cupped in her hands like an offering, and Ruddiger sniffs at the fruit before looking back at her, almost questioning.

“The horizon,” Rapunzel says, softly. “The tree line, beneath the sunrise. He’s heading there. If you follow the rock shards… I’m sure you’ll be able to find him, if you hurry.” 

She hesitates, then, and her confidence wavers. “If you want,” she adds, stuttering on the words. “You can stay with me, if you don’t. Or anyone you choose, wherever you want. But he’s so sorry. And I know he misses you so much. He was lost for a bit. He didn’t understand. But I think he does, now.” She holds out her hands, the apple in her palms. Pascal, on her shoulder, is watchful and knowing. “But he misses you. You’re his friend.”

_Varian,_ Cassandra realizes, watching the exchange. She is talking about Varian.

Ruddiger watches Rapunzel for a long moment. Then he scampers forward and chitters in her face, high and bright, fond and almost scolding. He takes the apple in his mouth and turns, tail brushing friendly at her hands, and then before Cassandra or anyone else can react, the small raccoon sprints off into the horizon, running toward the distant tree line cast in dark shadows by the rising sun. 

Cassandra stares after Ruddiger until he’s barely a speck, then looks back at Rapunzel. She’s sitting back on her heels, eyes bright with unshed tears. Some hidden tension has eased from her smile. Despite everything—she looks happy.

Cassandra still doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand how Rapunzel got here, what happened after they got separated. She doesn’t know why Varian bandaged Rapunzel’s hands, because he must have, or why Rapunzel let him go and sent Ruddiger off in his wake. Cassandra doesn’t understand _any_ of it.

But she looks at Rapunzel’s face, and that bone-deep joy she finds there, the sense of peace, of an ending, of everything falling into place…

…and Cassandra lets it go.

Rapunzel is happy, safe, and alive. For now… that is more than enough for Cassandra. She can wait forever for answers, if she has to. Just so long as Rapunzel keeps that smile on her face.

Rapunzel stands again, this time without help. Her shoulders back, her face turned to the sun. Feet set and back straight, holding herself tall like a queen. The sun creates a crown of light around her head. She smiles off into the horizon, and when she turns back to them, her eyes shine like diamonds in the light. “I have so much to tell you guys! So much that’s happened. So much to say.”

They smile helplessly back, and she laughs, relieved and delighted by her own freedom. It is a sound that Cassandra has sorely missed.

“But first…” Rapunzel says. “Let’s go back to Corona.” She holds out her hand and smiles. “Back home.”

There is still so much left unanswered. So much that Cassandra just doesn’t know. So much they still have to face—the King, the question of Adira, Varian’s absence. But Cassandra doesn’t need to know, not right now, and by the look on Eugene’s face, he’s willing to wait too. It is enough, in this moment, to just have Rapunzel.

Cassandra steps up and loops her arms through Rapunzel’s. “Yes,” she says, and finally smiles, warm and real and bright. “Let’s go home.”

-

The first thing Varian does upon escaping the labyrinth is walk for miles through a dead and dusty wasteland.

It’s not that he isn’t tired, and it’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep. He is tired, and he does want to sleep—he wants these things very, very badly. But the sunrise rose above a distant tree-line, the promise of shelter and food and people, and once Varian left Rapunzel behind, he found he couldn’t stop. Whatever power brought him back to life had healed over his feet and eased his hunger, and so Varian walked on non-stop until those woods finally came within reach. 

It takes Varian almost the entire day to reach those distant trees. By the time he arrives, the sky has turned the dark red-orange of coming dusk, twilight licking at the edges of the distant horizon. The clouds are resting low and heavy in the air, a chill autumn wind blowing harsh through the stiff pines. It’s like a different world altogether. 

Varian tilts back his head and breathes in cold air. At the start of this journey, it had been early summer; now the weeks have turned to months and the season is changing. It startles him, to realize this. After his Dad had… _left,_ to Varian’s eyes the world had slowed to a stop. The days had stood still and timeless, frozen in place. Now, to have the evidence of time passed and seasons changed right before him—it hits him hard. It’s as if he skipped forward in time, or like the whole world has moved on and left him behind, and he is only just now realizing this. 

Displaced. That’s the word for this emotion. Not quite sadness. Not quite apathy. Just… displaced. All this time, and he never even realized.

Varian… he must have missed his birthday. Late spring has been dead and gone for over four months now, his birthday set only a few weeks after Dad died. He’d forgotten—or maybe he just didn’t want to remember. His first birthday without Dad, and Varian hadn’t even been aware of it. Is he really fifteen instead of fourteen? 

He doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t feel older at all. Just younger—or maybe just smaller.

Varian pushes on into the sparse woods, refusing to dwell on those thoughts. The silence makes his skin crawl, and he shivers, rubbing absently at his arm. He can’t stop thinking, and it bothers him, because there is nothing else to do. He has no one to talk to. No one to interact with.

For the first time in his life, Varian is utterly on his own. 

He tries not to dwell on this, either, because of all the things Varian has to be upset about, he isn’t sure why this is one of them. He chose this, after all. He had left Rapunzel behind hours ago, and he doesn’t regret it. The idea of returning to that prison cell, to Corona, with the shadows of the labyrinth still so vivid in his head… 

And he meant it, what he’d said to her. He hasn’t had time to come to terms with it, but—Dad is gone. Truly, really, honestly gone. He’s known it all along, but now he has to accept it. Varian—Varian can’t help him. He can’t save his dad, or make him proud, or do anything worth doing… not if he stays locked in that cell.

Varian has nothing to return to, in Corona. Nothing and no-one at all.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. Varian isn’t used to being alone. Not really. His whole life has been shaped around other people, what they thought of him, if they liked him, what he could do for them, if he could impress them. His dad, the other villagers of Old Corona, Cassandra, Eugene, Rapunzel… even Ruddiger. They aren’t here, anymore—or worse, they don’t care. Except maybe Rapunzel, but that is a whole other can of worms that Varian isn’t interested in opening right now. 

He hadn’t had much time in the labyrinth, to think on these things. To sit down and realize what he’s become and where it’s left him. But he’s thinking of it now.

“You’re pathetic,” Varian announces to the air, his voice breaking. The edge of the woods, quiet and still, devoid of civilization. “You’re absolutely pathetic.”

This is a happy ending, Varian knows. It’s the best possible solution in these circumstances. He’s alive, be it due to magical nonsense or not. Rapunzel is alive. He escaped the labyrinth. There is open sky above him and a world of possibility at his feet. Rapunzel broke the manacles and let him go. He’s been cut loose. He’s been cut _free._

…Shouldn’t he be happy? 

And yet. He feels as if he’s lost everything. Only a week ago, at most, he stood in chains and hated the world with perfect certainty. And now… he can’t find that boy, whoever he used to be. He can’t find him. It’s all gone, left behind in the ruins of the Moon’s labyrinth.

Varian closes his eyes, hissing through his teeth. It’s stupid, is what it is. It’s stupid to miss that. To miss hating Rapunzel—seriously, what is wrong with him?

And yet—he hates this, he hates _feeling_ like this, displaced and alone and uncertain. He feels like he’s been hollowed out, everything he is and everything he believed in ground down into dust. He doesn’t know what to do or where to go, or even where to start. He has choices to make but he’s lost the confidence to make them. And he doesn’t know—he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. 

At least when he’d hated Rapunzel, Varian had known what to do.

Gritting his teeth, Varian forces his eyes open and stares out into the woods. There is no path, here. There is no easy road, because there isn’t a road at all. Just overgrown trees and an overcast sky, a land devoid of human influence. A blind path and a blind future for a boy who has no idea who he is.

_This is all very fittingly ironic,_ Varian thinks. It’s kind of a funny thought. He says it aloud, just to hear it, grinning half-heartedly at the sky—and then falters when he remembers that there’s no-one to respond.

His hand rises and rubs at the torn part of his left ear, and he doesn’t quite realize what he’s doing until his fingertips catch on the uneven break. He can still feel a phantom pain lingering from that day by the fire. His ear burns, even though he knows logically that it’s healed over, the open wound now sealed shut. It burns.

He forces his hand back to his side, and takes another breath.

“…I’m pathetic,” Varian says, at last, to himself. His hand tightens on the satchel strap, and there is no answer.

He sighs and goes to find himself something to eat.

It doesn’t take him long. The trees here are sparse, mostly pine, but deeper in he finds small clusters of different trees, one or two of which are practically laden with fruit. They grow in odd bunches, surrounded by the taller pines, like the overgrown remnants of some ancient orchard. From them, Varian picks a few crabby apples and what looks like an orange, and settles down on a felled log to eat his bounty.

He’s not far from the boundary line—through the trees he can see the divide, that sharp line where the trees end and the wasteland begins. It’s as if the Moon has drawn a line in the sand around her kingdom, a line that even nature doesn’t dare cross. It sounds like her, Varian thinks, biting into the apples (sour, small, mealy: edible). It seems very like the god, to have marked out a place just for her, and then to jealously refuse to let anything else in. Even trees, for some reason.

Thinking of Moon makes him grimace, and as Varian starts on the orange (tart, _really_ tart, like a lemon except sweeter and with a better aftertaste—), his hand rises up to rub hard at the center of his chest.

He hadn’t lied to Rapunzel. Not really. He’s not in pain, he’s not hurt, and there are no marks on his skin—Varian had checked. But whatever Moon did to him in that… _other_ place, he doesn’t think it was nothing. He can still remember, with awful vividness, the way it felt when she’d stabbed him through the chest, a flash of icy pain that burned so cold it felt like fire in his veins.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just irritating enough for him to notice it. That pit of warmth in his chest, ever since Rapunzel healed him—still there, still warm, a pool of light that even the autumn winds can’t break. But his heart feels cold, and his veins itch, and sometimes his eyes feel funny, the whole world gone shiny and shimmery like a heat haze. A chill has sunk deep into his bones and through his blood, a cold that goes deeper and darker than even winter winds. And his _hand_ … 

Varian rubs at his right palm irritably, pressing his fingers hard against his skin, wincing at the sting. The other oddities, while unnerving—he can ignore them. But he’s finding it a lot harder to ignore this.

It doesn’t hurt—not badly. Less pain and more like pins and needles, continuous and unending. His veins are stark through his skin in a way that they’ve never been before, rich and blue. His hand spasms and stings like he’s overworked it. Each and every muscle aches—tight and stiff like his own blood has become swollen. It’s irritating. It’s uncomfortable. It’s _frightening._

…This is the hand Varian took the Opal with.

He’s trying not to think about that.

By the time he’s finished his fruit, the sky has officially moved past late afternoon into the twilight hours. As the shadows stretch and distort along the dirt, Varian sits up on his bench, stretches out his legs, and sighs.

The day is done. The ordeal is over. He should probably find someplace to sleep. He probably should have slept _hours_ ago, in hindsight—he’s certainly exhausted enough. He just hadn’t felt safe sleeping in the wasteland, with nothing to eat and nowhere to hide.

He stands from the log, brushing the dust off his pants, fixing his torn shirt and trying to ignore the way his right hand spasms. He’s fine. He’s _fine._ Maybe if he says it enough, he’ll even believe it.

“I’m fine,” Varian tells the air. “I don’t mind being alone.”

The world doesn’t answer.

“I don’t.”

The silence stretches on. Varian scowls at his feet, kicks the log, and turns away to find someplace else to sleep.

His blood runs cold, and all the color drains from his face.

Varian stops mid-motion, so suddenly his body still sways with the momentum. His feet glue to the dirt. His mouth opens and then closes, soundless. He stares down at the ground with eyes wide and blank.

Ruddiger looks back at him.

It is a very familiar sight, so much so that for a moment Varian’s memory catches and falls behind, reminding him of other times, brighter times: Ruddiger waiting on the lab floor, sitting sulky and trapped under his mother’s apple tree, running off to find stray tools and ingredients and always coming back, just like this—settled on his back paws, head up and tilted, as if waiting for Varian to notice him.

It is a very familiar sight, but there are differences, too. The set of the scene—this sparse wood and empty sky, so unlike the cluttered hills of Corona. The way Ruddiger’s ears lie back flat, nose twitching, back curled and braced as if waiting for a shout. Worst of all is the look of him—no blank curiosity, no animal fondness. Those beady dark eyes fix on Varian’s face, wary and sad, and unlike so many times before, even after Ruddiger knows that Varian has seen him, Ruddiger does not approach. 

Varian doesn’t move either. He is stuck in time, struck silent. He isn’t breathing, and it's only because he can feel his pulse jump that he knows his heart is still going. It’s a shock he wasn’t expecting and does not know how to deal with. He hasn’t seen Ruddiger in weeks. Not since that night by the fire, when Varian tried to kill Rapunzel, and Ruddiger bit off half his ear instead. 

“…Ruddiger,” Varian manages, and then his jaw locks up. He doesn’t say anything else.

Ruddiger croons, low and inquisitive. He doesn’t move forward. He stays hunched on the ground, watching Varian’s face.

“Ruddiger,” Varian says again, as if to confirm, and when Ruddiger’s head tilts in recognition of the name, his chest seizes up tight. “Oh. Oh. It’s you.”

Ruddiger chitters, soft and quiet.

“…Rapunzel sent you. She must have. She told you… and. You came. You… You’re here.”

 Left unspoken, trapped behind his tongue: _I didn’t think you would._

Ruddiger’s head bows forward, little eyes peering up. He takes a quick step closer and coos at Varian, almost questioning. _Okay?_

“Oh,” Varian says, and this time his voice cracks in two. His ear is burning. He bites his lip to stop from shivering and shakes his head before he can start crying again. “Ah, I didn’t actually expect you to—to come—”

He doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t thought of what to say; he has been too afraid to even consider it. Because why would Ruddiger come back?

It’s recently become very clear to Varian, what exactly he’s done. The crimes Ruddiger has either not understood or ignored. That it was only when Varian tried to kill Rapunzel, only then that he finally pushed his raccoon’s loyalty too far, is a miracle.

It seems too easy, too simple, too damnably kind, for Varian to gain that loyalty back even before he’s done anything to earn it. It makes him want to cry. 

He feels off-kilter and struck dumb, stunned by this turn of events. It’s the same feeling he got when Rapunzel hugged him in the labyrinth, when she saved his life from the golem. A kindness he doesn’t expect and knows, suddenly and painfully, that he doesn’t really deserve.

“I’m sorry, _”_ Varian says, and while his voice wavers on the words, the apology itself is quiet, meek, soft. There’s no desperation in it. The labyrinth has wrung him ragged, and even for this, he can’t find it in himself to be hysterical. He’s just—tired. Drained. Sad. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t feel right, standing above Ruddiger like this; it makes him feel tall and a bit like a bully. He folds his legs and drops to his knees, and tries not to notice how Ruddiger shies away, keeping his distance. The words come easily to him—the only apology, Varian expects, that ever will.

Ruddiger is his friend. He’d picked this raccoon off his lab floor so many times he’d given it a name, and that same raccoon that once messed with his experiments and stole all the apples from his mother’s old tree has stuck with him throughout it all, through his dad’s death and the snowstorm and everything that followed. Ruddiger had stayed with Varian the whole time. He’d tried to help him.

He’d bitten off half of Varian’s ear in an accident, but in doing so he’d stopped Varian from crossing a line he could never return from, and even then—after everything Varian’s done—after all the things he’s starting to realize that he’s had a hand in—it would be so, so hypocritical of him to hate Ruddiger for that, if he ever could. 

“I’m _so sorry_.”

His hands wring, fingers interlocking and then twisting, twitchy and restless. He can hardly hear himself speak. His own voice has deserted him, and he has to struggle for every word, fighting to speak above a whisper. It scrapes at the inside of his throat, sour like bile.

“I’m sorry, Ruddiger. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I made you—that I—that you had to stop me from—”

None of the words are right, and his voice is withering. 

“I’m _sorry._ You didn’t mean to, I know that, and I—I’m not mad. I don’t blame you for that. I’m just—I’m sorry. You stopped me—you stopped me. I—I should have done better. I shouldn’t have done that to her. Or to you.”

His eyes are burning and _god,_ Varian really is a child, he can’t go five minutes without bursting into tears. He feels cold and disconnected, terrified to his bones. His throat is so tight. 

“I’m sorry, Ruddiger.”

Ruddiger tilts his small head at him. His little eyes are bright in the fading light of the twilight. He crawls towards Varian by inches, very slowly, pausing after each step as if to see how Varian will react.

Varian doesn’t move. He can’t. The words have dried up in his throat, and he finds himself frozen yet again—stuck in place, rooted to the ground, barely breathing. His eyes are bright, itching with a painful pressure. He’s not a pretty crier. The tears make his face twist and his breath hitch, and it takes everything he is to stay still. His eyes sting, and his hands are shaking, his fingers clenching at his knees.

Ruddiger slowly hops into his lap, and sits up on Varian’s folded legs. Varian flinches, leaning away, and in response, Ruddiger leans up. He sticks his small face very close to Varian’s eyes, beady eyes wide and staring.

And then, with utter seriousness—Ruddiger lifts his little paws, and bops Varian right on the nose.

Varian freezes. He blinks. 

Ruddiger coos at him, soft and friendly, and bats cheerfully at Varian’s long fringe. His claws dig and pull at the fabric of his shirt, and within moments Ruddiger has clamored up his side and found his favorite perch on Varian’s shoulders. He turns around a few times, sniffling quietly, ringed tail brushing at Varian’s cheek, then curls up and tucks his head down as if to go to sleep.

Varian stares out at nothing, eyes fixed forward and face blank. Slowly yet surely, an emotion breaks free, an expression cracking across his face. His smile is small, trembling. Then, as realization sinks in, the smile grows. His vision goes blurry. His cheeks hurt. Varian buries his face into his hands and shakes.

He’s laughing before he even realizes it, something quiet and wavering and halfway to a sob, so happy he feels like he could burst. He’s shaking like a leaf, barely staying upright, and he digs the heel of his palms against his eyes so he won’t cry, feeling that strange and wild smile stretch across his face, bright enough to burn.

Ruddiger croons at him and nudges his cheek, and Varian laughs harder, falling straight into tears. He can’t even speak, can’t say any of things he wants to say. _Thank you, I’m so sorry, I’m glad you’re here._ Useless and embarrassing things, probably, wasted on a raccoon who half-the-time seems to understand Varian’s words and the other half is just a raccoon, but he thinks it all the same.

By the time Varian finally calms down, the sun has set completely and the sky is becoming increasingly dark. He rubs his hands down his face and scrubs the tears from his cheeks, breaths wavering and hot. He feels feverish and warm, overworked from the tears and laughter.

He’s still smiling. 

“Ready to go, buddy?” Varian asks, and receives a quiet croon for an answer. His smile grows, and Varian picks himself off the ground inch by inch. He’s shaking, still—not from emotion but from sheer exhaustion, and he almost trips headfirst into a tree. Ruddiger chitters in worry, small claws pricking at his collar in alarm; Varian giggles like a child and rests his forehead against the bark. It’s cold against his skin, rough and scratching. His face hurts. He smiles anyway.

“Are you hungry?”

Ruddiger coos at him, something like an agreement, and Varian pushes his hair out from his eyes. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Let’s find you some food.”

Every motion is like sleepwalking—he’s too tired to focus, to really keep track of what he’s doing. Varian picks up another crabby apple for Ruddiger and wanders the darkened woods before finally resigning himself to sleeping up in a tree, settling among the branches. It’ll be uncomfortable, he knows, but after the experience he just had, Varian could sleep _anywhere_ and still be dead to the world.

He hugs Ruddiger to his chest in a fit of whimsy. Ruddiger coos at him and bops his nose again, then wriggles free to coil up in his arms instead. Varian laughs so hard he almost cries. 

He curls up in the branches as the last light fades, safely hidden in the leaves. Ruddiger is warm in his arms, dearly missed and finally returned. The night air is cold and the branches press hard against his spine. He doesn’t know where he is or what to do. He doesn’t know where to go from here. But the sky is clear and bright above him, and Ruddiger is by his side.

It’s enough.

Varian closes his eyes, and slips off to sleep with a smile.

-

His sleep is restful, dreamless—deep and undisturbed now that he knows he’s finally safe. Varian wakes up late the next morning, opening his eyes to distant birdsong. The sky is bright and blue, and the sun burns down high above him. It’s almost midday. 

Ruddiger is already awake—and aware, perched on Varian’s side like a king, looking around with his ears perked. Varian blinks up at him, laughs at the sight, then abruptly remembers everything that has happened and grabs Ruddiger in an abrupt hug.

Ruddiger chitters and complains at this. He scolds Varian like a worried mother and bats Varian’s nose again, but afterwards he settles on Varian’s shoulders without much fuss, already forgiven. Varian scratches at the raccoon’s ears and smiles, and stretches the knots out from his shoulder. The tree has left a faint green bruise all across his back, and he rubs at the mark ruefully. His right hand seizes up and tremors, stark blue veins trailing up his arm.

He feels tired, bone-deep and aching, and it takes him awhile to finally get down from the tree. After a few awkward minutes of tripping over branches, he finds a new apple tree and a few of those tart oranges, and splits them with Ruddiger for his breakfast. He eats as he walks, dropping the cores and peels behind him. The trees loom above him, needle-like leaves rustling in a soft wind. To his eyes, the woods stretch on for miles.

“Ready to go?”

Ruddiger croons, curling up on his shoulder. Varian rubs his hand over Ruddiger’s head, and smiles bright and true.

“Yeah. Me too.” 

The only way left to go is forward.

Varian starts off into the woods with his head high and Ruddiger humming by his ear. Rapunzel’s satchel thumps against his leg with every step, worn and soft. His feet are bare except for the bandages Rapunzel made from her dress, and while his feet are no longer injured, the cloth provides some protection from the rocky earth.

The memory makes his chest twist with something like guilt, but Varian looks back on that moment with kinder thoughts. If there was one good thing to come from the labyrinth, one thing Varian had gained instead of lost…

_Please trust me,_ Rapunzel had said, back in that tower. He hadn’t really had a reason to trust her then. Varian chose to take her hand anyway. What followed that choice was confusing, frightening, strange—but he had returned alive. He had trusted her, and she had kept her word, and then she had let him go. Varian is alive, he’s whole, and he has Ruddiger by his side—all because he trusted Rapunzel.

_One more chance._

He can’t bring himself to forgive her, not yet. But he is glad he chose to trust her. She’s given him a second chance… and maybe, when his head is clear and he can finally think about the labyrinth without his mind twisting into knots—maybe then, Varian can find it in himself to give her a second chance too.

Perhaps it’s the new day, the aftermath of a full night’s rest. Perhaps it’s how clear and blue the sky is, sunlight shining cold and bright through the trees. Perhaps it’s simply Ruddiger, here again, back at last, a comforting weight on Varian’s shoulders. But the journey now feels different—almost brand new. The worries and fears and loneliness that haunted Varian’s heels has ebbed away. It isn’t gone, not entirely: these worries will not fade with the passing of time. But they have eased, and become more bearable, and suddenly Varian has hope.

He walks through the woods with his head high, a small smile playing across his lips. He has hope. He has a second chance. He may not know where his next meal will be or if there’s a place to sleep, but that is a problem for another day. For now—

Varian walks forward, and hopes that maybe if he keeps going, one day he’ll find someplace to stop. Someplace to stay. Somewhere worth staying.

_Take care,_ Rapunzel had said. He wonders if she meant that. He’s starting to think she does.

By late afternoon, good fortune strikes. Varian steps out from the shadow of a great pine, and finds a worn and overgrown road. It is old, small, weedy and thin. Unused is putting it lightly. But it is a road, small though it is, and roads always lead to someplace.

Varian smiles at the worn gravel path, and looks down that winding trail. The small stones press against his feet, and the light is bright and hazy, warm afternoon sun. It looks like a beginning, the start of something new.

“I wondered when you’d stumble upon this place.”

Varian stills. Pain spikes up his right hand, his blood so cold it burns. Soft laughter echoes in the back of his head, distant and soft, carried by the wind. _Behind you,_ something whispers, a breathy voice in his ears, cold and whispering amusement. _Look behind you, boy._

He turns, slowly, his hand strangling the strap of the satchel. Ruddiger is sitting frozen on his shoulders, head tilted and ears pricked in vague recognition. The faint laughter rings in his ears and then fades away, and leaves him feeling breathless.

There is a stranger here, on the road, standing just beneath the shadow of the trees. Hands clasped behind their back, head bowed and eyes closed. A small smile curls at painted lips, a sad crook to the corner of their mouth.

“Varian of Old Corona,” says the stranger, “son of Quirin. The alchemist, the boy criminal. Your reputation precedes you, you know.”

The stranger steps into the light. An older woman with bone-white hair and a painted face, sharp eyes and a sharper smile. Her clothes are heavy-set and warm, and the hilt of a sword rises over one shoulder. Her expression is set and serious, and she looks at Varian like she knows him.

“My name is Adira,” says the woman. “It is good to see you again. And now, with those pleasantries out of the way…”

She puts a hand over her heart and bows, and Varian’s breath catches. There is a symbol on the back of her hand, stark against her tanned skin. A perfect circle bisected by three lines, like the trailing tails of a comet. A symbol he’s seen only twice before—once on his father’s hidden chest, and the other in the Moon’s tower, hidden away from the outside world.

Adira lifts her head, and meets Varian’s stunned gaze. 

“We have much to discuss, you and I,” she says. “Don’t you agree, little Moondrop?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_The Dark Kingdom crumbles, the Opal falls, the Moon slides back into her night sky. Light and memory ripple across a cosmos, the echo of a great clash. A fate defied; a destiny challenged and changed._

_In a place beyond reality, in a world beyond, above or below or besides the earth, something in the darkness shifts. The ringing clash of contrasting powers, a radiant sun and lovely moon, breaks through eons of enforced sleep. Blinding light flashes through and scorches the dark waters of an endless sea._

_Chains pull. Bones creak. The blackness groans like old wood, its bonds stretching thin, the monster caged inside the shadows finally stirring awake._

_Zhan Tiri opens his eyes._

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

**:: TO BE CONTINUED ::**

 

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing’s first: **Labyrinths isn’t done yet.** This is just part one!! There will be another story coming soon, probably around May, that will serve to continue the plot! If you're subscribed to the fic, the series, or even just my username, you’ll probably be notified right away when it's posted—but if not, I will also announce the sequel on my blog, and post a ‘bonus’ chapter for this story once its up!! (I’m thinking of including some short scenes and previews with it too, so it’s not just a notification, ahaha). So keep your eyes out for that!! Varian’s only just started on his path, after all—now the real redemption begins. 
> 
> With that said…. Part one is officially finished!!! I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, mainly because resolution is always tricky business when everyone’s running on high emotions, but I’m pretty happy with it, all in all. Rapunzel and Varian have gone as far as they can, and now they both need some time and space to sort themselves out. And distance!! At this point, all they’d end up doing is snapping at each other. They each need time to grow on their own path, to deal with their own problems—and so, the separation. Rapunzel goes home, and Varian moves on. I know it's not the picture-perfect ending, and they aren't quite at the found-family level yet-- but I think this end feels right to them. They aren’t at the point where they can forgive each other, or even become friends—but they will, someday! That was sort of what this chapter was all about.
> 
> Also, I’m just going to go out and say it— yeah, you guys called. Moon theory!!!! I’ve been planning this from the start, ahaha. I really love the idea so much, and half the reason this fic was written at all was because I wanted to try my own spin on it!!! (The other two reasons were Varian in a dress, and impaled!Varian. My inspirations are strange). On that note, Moon will also play a big role in the sequel, and in Varian’s story, so… I hope you guys like her, ahaha. We definitely haven’t seen the last of her.
> 
> I also wanted to mention, just because I was afraid I didn’t make it super clear in the last chapter—but the only reason Rapunzel got the drop on Moon was because of Eugene and Cassandra. Their fight with Moon in chapter 9 distracted Moon so thoroughly, that for a moment she wasn’t watching Rapunzel at all. She didn’t see Rapunzel reach the tower… and she didn’t see Rapunzel’s attempts to heal Varian. This little mistake is what ultimately causes the entire situation to spiral out of Moon’s control. So, Eugene and Cass played a big role there!!! I wasn’t sure if it was super clear, so I wanted to mention. Those two may not realize it, but they probably saved Rapunzel and Varian’s lives with that stunt. For all their feelings of helplessness, their actions turned the tide.
> 
> Finally... I just want to say thank you, again. You guys are probably the only reason I finished this fic, ahaha. Your support and enthusiasm for this story pushed me to keep going and keep growing as a writer, and I’m really grateful!! I hope this final chapter was worth the wait… and I hope the ending lived up to your expectations. ❤️ Please let me know what you thought!! :D
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/176461110227/masterpost-labyrinths-of-the-heart-a-ttsrta) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!! See you guys soon!
> 
> Any final thoughts??


End file.
